


Blue Doll

by LadyVegeets



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-23 18:08:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9670145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyVegeets/pseuds/LadyVegeets
Summary: At a luxurious galactic brothel, Vegeta discovers a rare, little blue sex doll that whets his appetite for something more. (This series written for the Spring 2017 Vegebul Smutfest hosted by the Prince and the Heiress google community.)





	1. 01 Toys (Illustrated)

**Blue Doll** , by LadyVegeets

**-01 Toys-**

 

Vegeta hated this place with every fiber of his being. Raditz and Nappa had already left him, running off to slobber over the brothel’s displays like starving dogs eyeing fresh haunches of meat. He didn’t know whether to be disgusted or envious of their enthusiasm. Sex had never brought him pleasure. Relief, yes, a purging of a biological need, sure, but never _pleasure_. He never pined away for a good fuck; not the way his two compatriots seemed to. More often than not, Vegeta found his hand satisfactory to the task, and when he did partake in carnal relations with another, he did his best to make the matter as impersonal and perfunctory as possible. Engaging with others when death wasn’t involved wasn’t his strong suit, and that left him feeling vulnerable in a way that sat poorly with his pride.

Yet here he was, back at another brothel, if only to shut Nappa and Raditz up, by ensuring that their energy was spent on something other than aggravating the living fuck out of him. To be fair, this was by far the nicest looking brothel that they had visited yet. In fact, the damn place reeked of exclusivity. Which only unsettled Vegeta all the more. It was too clean, too nice. Nothing good ever came of these kinds of places. It made him think of the Colds’ spacecrafts, richly outfitted in their opulence, gold and silks poorly veiling their owners’ sadistic intentions.

A loud, girlish squeal pierced the quiet, followed by Nappa’s booming laugh. Vegeta felt his lip curl in distaste. He walked down the hall, putting distance between himself and his companions, and in doing so, headed towards the more expensive end of the brothel’s wares.

They were all displayed in glass windows, like mannequins. ‘Dolls’, the host had called them, chosen for their eclectic beauty, and set up like porcelain figures. Vegeta could see that some took the ‘doll’ name more literally than others. A lot of them were sex-bots, and they sat, pretty and still as a picture, waiting for a client to ‘play’ with them. Or at least he assumed they were supposed to be pretty. Most represented alien species he was only cursorily familiar with. Some were Saiyan-like in that they stood on two legs, were warm blooded, but that’s where the similarities ended. The differences, however small, were enough to be unsettling. ‘ _A hole was a hole_ ’ Nappa would say, and though Vegeta agreed, he still found it hard to be excited when a girl’s skin was so scaly it felt like he was fucking gravel, or when a woman looked up at him with eyes as alien and soulless as a fish’s.

He was nearing the end of the displays. Nothing had caught his eye, but he had barely looked, instead making a line for the brothel’s most expensive girls. He was a Prince after all. Seedy fuck or not, he deserved the best.

Finally he reached the top echelon of the sex dolls. Their displays were far more elaborate. Only one appeared to be a sex-bot, remaining still, while the other ‘dolls’ perked up at the appearance of a possible client. He glared at them with a critical eye, mentally weighing if any would be worth his time or his credits, and wondering if it wouldn’t just be easier and cheaper to find a hotel, jerk off and pass out.

Pale skin and the flash of an usual blue caught his eye. Vegeta glanced over and, for the first time in years, was taken by surprise.

 _She’s Saiyan_. 

For an exhilarating, wild heart beat, he thought he had found his own kind. Female, no less. A _beautiful_ female at that. 

But just as quickly as the thought entered his mind, his rational side squashed it. She couldn’t be. His kind was near extinct. And no Saiyan woman would tolerate becoming captive to a brothel. Not to mention this girl had no tail, and her hair coloring was blue when it should have been dark. No, she was no Saiyan… but Gods did she almost fit the bill. Something hurt in his chest as he eyed her over. Her features were fey, her skin much paler than his own, but it was skin like his nonetheless, not scales or fur or oozing sludge. She wore only the thinnest robe that barely hid her lithe, curvy body beneath. She was, hands down, the most gorgeous thing he had ever encountered. But she had inadvertently reminded him of the death of his species, and that bitter taste now lingered in his mouth.

She noticed him too. She stood from her chair and approached the glass, her eyes roving over him in his Saiyan armor, her gaze lingering on his spiky hair, and on his tail wrapped around his waist, the tip of which twitched under her observation. They eyed each other from across the expanse of the room, his look wary where her’s was more curious. He finally stepped closer to her display to get a better look, his arms crossed over his breast plate. She was about the same height as him, but much more delicate in stature. He sensed she would break as easily as the glass she stood behind.

“Are you a soldier?” she asked, her voice muffled behind her window but still discernible. She spoke the galactic language fluently, her voice smooth on his ears. Her eyes still rove all over him, taking in his shoulder pads and hardened physique. 

He narrowed his eyes at her, not bothering to answer. He didn’t answer questions, he asked them. “What are you?” he asked curtly.

“I’m human,” she replied, as if that was supposed to mean something to him. It didn’t. And then she said something to really baffle him. “I’m Bulma.”

He glanced down at the gold name plate on her display case. RANK S. BLUE DOLL it read. He pointed a finger towards it. “According to that you’re not.”

The faintest of scowls marred her pretty face, before she chased it away with a practiced smile. “I don’t care what that says,” she replied, her voice low, conspiring. A secret shared between the two of them, luring him in, her words wrapping around him like a lasso. “I’m Bulma,” she repeated firmly. “Who are you?”

“None of your business,” he said.

“It’s very much my business if you’re going to fuck me.”

“Who said I was going to fuck _you_?”

“Your eyes did,” she said, giving him a salacious smile. She let her gaze wander to his hip plates. “And if I put my hand under those, I’m guessing the bulge in your pants would too.”

Vegeta struggled not to react, fighting back a blush. He was not used to such a bold approach. Or any kind of approach at all. Most whores would go about their duty with bored submission, using practiced lines he would quickly put an end to by telling them to shut up. But this was different. This woman’s lewd words almost felt like an invitation. A vulgar invitation from a woman who was fucking him with her pretty sapphire eyes.

And he was annoyed at how effective it was. She was right. He was getting hard.

Vegeta was tempted to walk away just to prove her wrong. But that would be like running away, and running wasn’t something coded into his DNA. Besides, wasn’t that her job, to arouse him? And wasn’t he here to be aroused? It was just a business transaction. He was a client with a biological urge, and she, the doll to meet it.

So why did her smile, bold words, and keen eyes rattle him so?

“So, soldier,” she pressed on when he didn’t reply. “What’s it going to be? Can you afford me?”

He felt a tick of annoyance pull at his cheek, a remarkable feat when it usually took the idiotic antics of Raditz to rile him up so easily. “I am a _warrior_ , not a solider,” he corrected her tersely. “ _And_ I am a prince.” A displaced one, sure, with only two subjects, but a prince nonetheless.

Her blue eyes lit up at his title, her smile broadening. “So you _can_ afford me.”

Of course he fucking could. Not that he was as wealthy as one might think a prince to be, but he was far from poor. He rarely had the chance to spend his credits. Frieza’s army kept him adequately outfitted, sparing him the need to buy equipment. And even if he did want to go shopping, most of his missions provided him with little opportunity to do so. Not that he cared to. What would he buy? He had few hobbies or vices. When he did spend his credits, it was usually on acquiring decent food and accommodations, if the planet they were spending a lay over on could provide them with such. But such small luxuries hardly put a dent in his savings.

And so Vegeta had amassed a small fortune. Which is why now he didn’t even have to look at her rate. He knew he could afford her. And even if he couldn’t, who the fuck was going to stop him from taking her if he really wanted to?

“You seem awfully eager to get fucked,” he commented.

She lowered her eyes, a blush staining her cheeks, before glancing back up at him. “Well, it’s not every day a cutie like you walks in.” Before he could scoff at her flattery, she added, “You’re like me.”

“Like you?” he asked, trying to discern what she meant. They were nothing alike. They couldn’t be any more opposite. He was death in the flesh, hard and brutal and dark, whereas she was soft and light and made for pleasure. Or was she drawing some more abstract parallel between their lives? Did she see something in him? Did she somehow know of the servitude he was forced into? While she might be trapped behind glass, he was trapped by an invisible leash, forced to heel to a master and live a life not of his choosing. 

Maybe they were more alike than he thought.

“Yes, we’re bipedal,” she explained, ticking off words on her fingers. “Mammalian. There’s cranial Hair. Binocular vision. Pentadactyl limbs. Opposable digits. Ectodermal tissue.”

Vegeta blinked, trying not to look as confused as he felt. 

She gave a small smile, seeing through his act. “That basically means we have the same hair, hands, eyes, legs… skin,” she clarified, her smile turning sad. Her fingers brushed over her arm. His eyes followed the gesture, entranced by how soft her skin appeared. He was suddenly taken by the desire to run his fingers over her. Something clenched and tightened in his lower belly.

So, she had been speaking literally when she said they were alike, referring to their physical similarities.

It never occurred to Vegeta that someone else might hunger for contact from their own species. Or at least, from someone close enough to pass as one, as Saiyan, or whatever she had called herself. He found himself giving the most fleeting of thoughts to what her usual clientele must look like. She was unspeakably beautiful and exotic. Rare. No doubt she attracted a wide range of rich clients. And if her quiet confession had been any indication, none of them had skin. 

And neither had those he had been with, at least, not skin like his. Like hers. And he would probably never get the chance again if he walked away from her.

“Do you know how long it’s been since I felt human skin on my own?” she murmured, pressing closer to the glass, her fingers still ghosting over her arm in a slow, sensual caress. She trailed her fingers up to her neck, then down her chest, between her breasts that her robe barely covered. He stepped forward to hear her words, lured in by the unspoken offer to touch her, if only the damned glass weren’t in the way. 

“Do you think I care about your suffering?” he asked, surprised by how low and husky his voice came out.

She looked up at him from under hooded eyes. “Isn’t my suffering the same as yours? Aren’t you dying to feel me around your cock, as much as I am to have you sink into me?”

_Holy shit._

“Isn’t that why you’re talking to me now?” she added, touching her forehead to the window, her words fogging between them. “To fuck me?”

Vegeta pressed a fist to the glass, and leaned in so close his brow rested opposite of hers. “Woman. You had better be worth it.”

“I am.”

“Tch, we will see.”

* * *

~xox~

 

The private room was nicer than he had been anticipating. It wasn’t overly gaudy. If anything, it felt cozy and lived in. The furnishings were decorated in rich earthy tones, lit with soft, warm lamp light. It reminded him of a sunset after a hard day’s purge, when he sat and contemplated the newly desolate planet, fresh blood still seeping into the soil, the whistle of the wind blowing in the sudden silence of screams and explosions.

It was peaceful.

He approved.

“Are you thirsty?” she asked.

His eyes slid from their careful observation of the room over to her. There was no glass separating them now, but there was still an invisible barrier that he wasn’t sure how to cross. He felt more like a guest than a client here. She probably meant it to be comforting but instead it threw him off. Previous experience taught him that the whore would already be lying on her back, legs splayed, staring up at the ceiling in disinterest, or half-heartedly attempting to encourage him. This Bulma woman was an anomaly, still wearing her sheer fabrics that shifted and shimmered tantalizing over her body, smiling warmly as she held up a glass and a bottle in offering.

He thinned his lips at her drink, by nature distrustful. He glanced over to the bed.

She saw, and laughed. “That eager, are we?”

He felt his face warm, and hoped the caramel lighting would hide any color his cheeks betrayed. “I didn’t pay you to drink,” he snapped churlishly.

“Of course not,” she replied, setting glass and bottle aside. Her hands went to her thin robe and with practiced, liquid ease, she unrobed, the fabric melting away and pooling about her feet. She was naked. A tiny, pale, curvy thing of Saiyan wet dreams.

Fucking hell.

If he wasn’t blushing before, he definitely was now. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he glanced away, uncomfortable with her confidence.

Though he didn’t look directly at her, he could see her approach from his peripheral vision, feel her presence as she invaded his space. He tensed when her hands alighted on his breastplate. 

“How do you take this off?” she asked, her voice low and seductive.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She was giving him a cute smile, her blue eyes dancing wickedly. He couldn’t shake the feeling she was making fun of him. Vegeta frowned and brushed her hands away to pull off his armor. He had to unwind his tail to do so, and didn’t miss the way her eyes widened with curiosity at the appendage. Vegeta let his armor drop loudly and unceremoniously to the floor, and tried not to panic now that he didn’t have it on. There was nothing this woman could possibly do to harm him, and yet… he felt raw and exposed. Though she was naked and he fully clothed, he felt like he had stripped himself of more than just his armor.

“Can I touch your tail?” she asked, still eyeing it with fascination.

He hastily wrapped it back around his waist. “Absolutely not,” he said curtly.

“Why not? Is it sensitive?” she asked, sounding excited by the notion.

He felt himself tense defensively. “I won’t repeat myself.”

She pouted, but her eyes drank in the rest of him, his blue, skin-tight suit making it easy for her. His tail curled about tight abs, his powerful chest rose and fell with his breathing, and lower down his half-hard erection was no longer hidden beneath armored plates. “You’re very impressive,” she said in honeyed tones.

He looked away, but not in embarrassment. He wanted to preen at her words. Of course he was impressive. He trained exhaustively for this body. Still… it wasn’t often others praised his physique. Most people couldn’t look past his short height, and it wasn’t until too late that they realized the living weapon he was. It was hard to think this woman could be any different. No doubt she was only lavishing him with a whore’s idle praises. 

But he wanted to think she meant it. She certainly sounded more convincing than the others ever had.

He saw movement and his hand darted up instinctively to catch her fingers moments before they touched his cheek. He scowled at her. “The fuck do you think you’re doing?” he snapped at her.

“Touching you,” she said matter-of-factly. She was giving him a bemused look, but otherwise appeared unconcerned by his harsh reaction. “This will be a little difficult without touching.”

“Tch.”

She was right. Damn her.

Her expression softened. Her fingers curled around his where he still gripped her hand. “…Is this your first time?” she asked gently. 

“Wh- _what_?” he asked, outrage quickly swelling up inside of him.

“It’s okay. I’ve dealt with virgins before. We can take it slow.”

How _dare_ she. How dare a _whore_ presume to know his sexual experience, and more than that, speak to him so casually about it? As if her opinion fucking _mattered_. 

She was only a goddamn sex doll after all. 

Done with playing this awkward cat and mouse dance, Vegeta leaned in, his lips peeling back from his canines in a silent snarl. “I’m no virgin. And I don’t need your pity. I don’t need anything from you but what I paid for.”

It was meant to be intimidating, and he thought he succeeded when her breath trembled. But then she leaned closer, her soft body pressing into his, and his cock twitched in reaction. Exhilaration flashed in the depths of her sparkling blue eyes. 

“Oh trust me, pity is the _furthest_ thing on my mind,” she reassured, and leaned in to kiss him. Vegeta panicked, shoving her away. He threw her towards the bed and her legs hit the edge, sending her tumbling onto the mattress and she let out a startled yelp. He was done being on the defense. He advanced towards her, ripping his blue battle suit from his shoulders and peeling it down his torso. 

The woman brushed her cerulean hair from her face and stared up at him. Her surprise at his sudden manhandling quickly changed, seeing him strip down. He wanted to scare her. He needed to tip the scales back in his favor. The balance had been shifting further and further into her control, but he was putting a stop to that right now. He needed to regain dominance, and fear was his tool of choice. The woman needed to be put back in her place. But she must have had a death wish, because instead of fearing the dark, predatory look he aimed at her, she returned it with her own. Her breath quickened and her eyes darkened, not with fear, but arousal. With cheeks flushed and nipples peaked, the blue doll spread her legs in open invitation.

Something primal snarled inside of him, bucking at a cage to be set free. His blood burned, rushing through him, heating his skin and electrifying him in a way that felt akin to battle, excited for spilt blood and carnage. His pulse pounded in his ears, and throbbed in his cock. 

“Turn over,” he told her in a growl.

She was admiring his scarred chest and arms when he spoke. Her eyes snapped back to his, showing her surprise. “What, why?” she whined. 

Done with her insubordination, Vegeta leaned in and grabbed her tiny waist. It was an easy thing to flip her about. She weighed nothing, light as a kitten next to his brute strength. It startled him. How much would he need to hold back to prevent from breaking her?

She let out a breathless gasp as he flipped her, but once turned around, she stayed obediently on her belly. She glanced over her shoulder at him, lifting her pert, perfect ass up into the air.

“What should I call you?” she asked, her voice breathy with excitement.

“Nothing,” he told her as he pulled the rest of the suit off his body, his swollen cock springing free. He climbed over her on the bed, and grabbed a fistful of her hair, shoving her face down into the bed so she couldn’t look at him. 

“Toys don’t speak.”

 

* * *

~xoXox~

Art by **[Rutbisbe](http://rutbisbe.tumblr.com/post/159486225386/fanart-for-amazing-fic-blue-doll-by-ladyvegeets)**  

[ ](http://s1079.photobucket.com/user/ladyvegeets/media/Blue%20Doll%20Fanart/tumblr_ooam09nLw21qdqbueo1_1280_zps7fbormvd.jpg.html)

 

 **AN:** beta-read by the incredibly talented **Artephile** / **Marcella-Duchamp.**

Much love and appreciation to **stupidoomdoodles** who helped me brainstorm this AU idea.

This series written for the Spring 2017 Vegebul Smutfest hosted by **the Prince and the Heiress** google community. (TPTHVegebulSmutfest)

DBZ characters are an original creation of Akira Toriyama. 


	2. 02 Masturbation

**Blue Doll**

**-02 Masturbation-**

 

With the press of a button, Vegeta could make his suffering end. But he was nothing if not a masochist, and he refused to take the easy route of activating the deep-sleep mode in his space pod.

It had been weeks since his jaunt to the brothel. He couldn’t shake the memory of soft skin and blue hair. The sex doll haunted his dreams and sometimes even his waking moments when something blue caught his eye, or when Raditz and Nappa would reminisce about the great fucks they had enjoyed, and Vegeta would inevitably recall his own. 

And it _had_ been a great fuck. That was the problem. He had _enjoyed_ it. 

And more than that, so had she.

He had been rough with her. Her self-assurance and arousal made him uncomfortable, so he hid behind the guise of indifference. Or that was the plan. But the moment he grabbed her hips and shoved inside of her, everything else had fallen away.

He had fit _perfectly_ inside of her. She was the tightest, hottest, and wettest little thing he had ever fucked. He heard her mewl beneath him, and he wondered if he hurt her. But she rolled her hips against him, her fingers curling in the sheets, encouraging him with her body, since he had denied her the chance to use her words… 

Vegeta glared out of his pod, half looking at the stars as they rushed past, half staring at his own reflection. He tried to adjust his hardening cock in his suit as his mind lingered on his time with the girl. She had smelled so nice, and it wasn’t just the soap and lotions she used. It was her: her skin, her arousal. He had become acutely aware of it as he bowed over her, thrusting in and out of her tight cunt, his face inches from her neck, her perfume of female pheromones invading his senses. It had taken a lot not to give in to animal urges and sink his teeth into her shoulder, marking her as his. She wasn’t his. But fuck had it felt good to own her for a short while.

Vegeta huffed, dispelling the memory. His erection sat heavily in his suit. He gripped the base to try and ease himself down, and swore when he leaked precum. Fuck, he was hard, more pent up than normal. His usual tactics of over training and over working were becoming insufficient. It only dulled the ache, pushing it back to be forgotten until it sprang up when his guard was down. He woke three nights ago with visions of blue hair and moon-kissed skin, grinding against his mattress like a goddamn teenager in rut. Thank fuck he had paid for a private room. But now he sat, his body yet again screaming for that sweet release he had found between the whore’s perfect thighs.

Fuck it all. Vegeta snatched his scouter from his face, turning it off and throwing it aside before sitting back in his chair. Wrestling with his suit, he pulled out his dribbling cock. With the stars before him, and the blue sex doll in his mind’s eye, he started jerking off. 

Her skin had been softer than he expected. Her hair too. Everything of hers was exquisite. Luxurious. No wonder she was an S Rank whore. He soon regretted putting her on her belly. He didn’t want her unnerving blue gaze on him, and though the view of her back was splendid, he came to wish that he could watch her breasts bounce as he pistoned inside her. And fuck, the noises she made were incredible. He had never heard a woman make those sounds; not for him. _It’s all an act,_ he tried to convince himself, _she’s just a very good actor._ But he could _feel_ her clenching around him, feel her getting wetter, her legs trembling, her breathing growing shorter.

And then, despite him telling her otherwise, she spoke.

“Oh Kami, oh Kami,” she whimpered, her delicate fingers twisting in the bedsheets. “Please! Harder, oh Kami, _harder_!”

He should have been livid that she talked, that she dared give him orders, but for some reason he just couldn’t care. In fact, he rose to meet her challenge, slapping into her brutally, thrilled that such a fragile creature could take so much abuse.

Her cries grew louder, echoing off the bedroom walls. Her breathing became more erratic, sounding almost panicked. She keened and babbled nonsense in a voice growing tighter and higher as he continued to wreck her pretty cunt.

“ _Ah! Oh Kami, yes… Please… Nng, please…!_ ”

And it was incredible. He had never fucked anything so alive, so passionate, so needy. She didn’t just sound good, or smell good, she was making him _feel_ good too. He found himself wanting this moment to last, to enjoy each thrust rather than work towards a quick and forgettable ending. 

She started sobbing, her fingers raking at the sheets, threatening to tear them. He felt her tense up, clenching violently, and she wailed into the mattress.

Holy shit. 

Did she just cum?

Did she just cum _because of him_?

He could feel her fluttering contractions, feel her body tremble and buck beneath his, hear her exhausted moans as he maintained his relentless rhythm. When she fell limp beneath him, panting for air, spent, he knew it was no act.

Which is what did him in. He grabbed her hips in both hands and pulled her down hard, shoving in deep as he spilt himself inside her belly. 

She moaned as he used her for his own satisfaction. When he finished giving her every last drop, he collapsed forward, pressing his sweaty brow to her back, gasping to catch his breath. In that unguarded moment, as they both gasped and floated down from some incredible place of bliss, he let his fingertips trail over her shoulder, down her back, burning the sensation of her damp, soft skin into his memory.

Vegeta grunted and bowed forward in the pod as he spilt himself inside his hand. His gratification felt weak and pale compared to that which he had experienced at the brothel. Letting his breathing return to normal, he looked down at his gloved hand now covered in semen, and sneered in disgust. 

_You’re more pathetic than Nappa and Raditz._

He peeled his gloves from his hands and tossed them aside, in a mood more foul than before he came. He was still deeply unsatisfied, as cold and hollow as the space pod he traveled in.

 

* * *

~xoXox~

 

 **AN:** beta-read by the incredibly talented **Artephile** / **Marcella-Duchamp.**

This series written for the Spring 2017 Vegebul Smutfest hosted by **the Prince and the Heiress** google community.

 


	3. 03 Spanking (Illustrated)

**-03 Spanking-**

 

Vegeta watched as Nappa and Raditz tore apart the dead creature, wrenching off limbs to chew on.

“You sure you don’t want any?” Raditz asked, his mouth full of bloody raw meat.

Vegeta scowled. They had been purging this planet for days with little rest. Those rare times when Vegeta had found a chance to close his eyes, he dreamt of soft skin and whimpered moans, and woke up sweaty and frustrated. He was exhausted. And filthy. And yes, hungry. But the creatures here were tough and acerbic, far from being a satisfying meal. He didn’t relish the struggle of tearing stringy flesh from bone, not when there was cooked food and a hot shower waiting a short pod flight away.

“I’m sick of this shit,” Vegeta snarled, kicking a carcass in ill temper. “I’m not going to sit here and scavenge in the dirt like a mongrel for some desiccated swamp scraps. Get in your pods.”

“Where are we going?” Nappa asked.

“The nearest civilized solar system,” Vegeta snapped back.

He pretended not to notice the look his two men shared. It was unlike him to complain and be so quick to abandon a freshly purged planet. He normally relished the freedom these missions brought, wreaking havoc and living by his own rules. But Nappa and Raditz were not about to question their good luck at the prospect of a soft bed, hot food, and perhaps a whore to warm their night.

Vegeta marched over to his pod and, without glancing at his compatriots to see if they kept up, climbed in and set the coordinates. 

The fact that a certain brothel happened to reside in said civilized solar system had absolutely no bearing on his decision to seek finer refuge.

None whatsoever…

* * *

~xox~

 

Vegeta stared down the row of sex dolls, his stomach flip-flopping.

He couldn’t believe he was back here.

Of his own choice, no less.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

Vegeta had lain in a bed of fresh linens, staring up at the ceiling with his belly full, body freshly showered, unable to sleep. It was getting out of hand. He could feel himself fraying at the edges, growing manic. He needed release. There was no denying it or avoiding it any longer.

Which is why he was back at the brothel. He wouldn’t be surprised if his companions were already here, fucking whores in one of the rooms. But it wasn’t for fear of running into them that had Vegeta wondering if he could turn around and leave without it reeking of retreat.

He didn’t want to admit that he needed her, even if it was just for sex.

…Maybe she wasn’t here? Perhaps she had been traded or bought outright? Someone could be fucking her now. Maybe she had the night off.

Did sex dolls get the night off?

Only one way to find out.

Vegeta headed towards the S Rank room, trying not to hasten his step, pretending like his palms weren’t sweating in his gloves. 

As he approached the end of hall, he saw her. She was sitting in the same display, looking just as beautiful and radiant as before. Only her robe was different; shorter and not translucent this time. His fingers itched to tear it from her.

He slowed and came to a stop, as yet unnoticed. He could still leave, return to his room and jerk off. He would feel wholly unsatisfied afterwards and pass out into a restless sleep filled with creams and blues that _never let him be,_ but at least he would retain his dignity. All he had to do was accept his spiraling descent into madness.

Whether from luck or a keen sense of perception, the woman looked up. Her eyes flickered with recognition, and a cocky smile broke across her face. She stood and approached the glass, pressing her palms to the window.

“You’re back,” she called.

Vegeta felt something strange tighten in his chest. She remembered him. He advanced slowly towards her. “Who said I’m back for _you_?” he asked with a sneer.

Her lips curled up with smug confidence. “Your eyes do.” She cocked her head, shifting to the side. Her short robe inched up her creamy thighs, the gown barely covering her. He allowed his gaze to linger on what she revealed, before sliding up to meet her satisfied look.

“See?” she said, not missing his look. “Your eyes tell me you’re hungry.”

She was right, though he wouldn’t admit it. But he wasn’t just hungry, he was _starving_. The blue sex doll had been haunting him for weeks. She had gotten under his skin, crept into his mind and awoken a hunger in him he never knew he possessed. He watched her closely, salivating like a beast on the hunt, savoring the moment before he would spring into action to grab a mouthful of delectable prey. 

But he didn’t like that she could read him so easily. He stepped closer, giving her a cold look. “Perhaps your vision needs checking.”

“My vision is 20/20 when it comes to cute men,” she said with a wink.

It caused something to flutter horribly in his stomach. He looked away with a blush.

“Tch.”

“There’s no need to be shy,” she said, her tone amused. “I’m flattered you enjoyed me so much. I wasn’t sure I would see you again.”

“Like I care what you think,” he replied, glaring at her from the corner of his eyes.

She grinned. “Then why are you talking to me?”

Shit. That was a good point. Why was he talking to her? He should already be in her room, sinking inside of her. Instead he was standing out here, engaging her in… some kind of awkward repartee?

Was he actually having a _conversation_ with her?

He struggled to regain control, turning to face her. “As I recall, I wasn’t the only one to _enjoy_ our time together,” he said, referring to her orgasm.

The woman blushed, yet didn’t look embarrassed. “I did. I…” she hesitated, and it caught his attention. It was the first time he sensed any uncertainty in her. She pressed a finger to the glass, drawing idle patterns as she looked at him from under hooded blue lashes.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” she confessed.

Vegeta struggled not to react, his heart-rate accelerating. _It’s a lie, a whore’s lie_ , his brain screamed at him, but his gut and his cock thought otherwise. He stepped up to the glass and put his palm to the window. She was still blushing, her chest rising and falling with short breaths. Her blue eyes were dark, pupils dilated with excitement.

She was luminescent with arousal. And he _yearned_ to have her.

“You lie,” he said, but there was no malice in his tone, just uncertainty, and perhaps, a thread of hope.

She gave him a soft smile. “Not about this. I thought about you all day after you left me, with your cum still inside me. And every time a client has visited me since, I’ve compared them to you.”

He couldn’t believe his ears, and knew that he shouldn’t trust anything she said. But maybe, just maybe, a small part of it was true?

“They all came up wanting,” she assured him. She fanned her hand, touching it to the glass, over his chest. “And none of them made me cum.” She nudged the glass with her nose, and Vegeta huffed, wishing the damn window wasn’t there so he could nuzzle her back.

“Please make me cum again?” she whispered.

Vegeta had never been so happy to spend his credits in his life.

* * *

~xox~

 

She wailed as he thrust into her. Vegeta crushed her soft, naked body against the wall, pinning her with his own. Her arms and legs wrapped around him, clinging tightly as he fucked her with a savage and desperate need. She whimpered when he pushed her thighs open wider so that he could fuck her deeper. Her fingernails raked at his back, spurring him on. He wanted it to last forever.

But he was too eager, too pent up, and she felt too incredible. 

With a few violent thrusts, he came. Blissful release crashed over him like a tidal wave, and left him just as breathless.

Her hands trailed soothingly over his back, up his neck, pushing into his hair. A different whore had tried touching his hair once. He hadn’t tolerated it, and had shoved her away. This time he allowed it. It actually felt nice to have the woman’s fingers massaging his scalp.

“All better now?” she crooned.

He panted against her shoulder, his chest heaving as he attempted to calm down. But as the remnants of orgasm faded, something else crept up, nagging and uncomfortable.

She hadn’t cum.

Well, he wasn’t paying her for her own pleasure, was he? …Still, he had finished too fast, and it was a blow to his ego that he hadn’t made her fall apart like before. Like she had asked him to.

He reluctantly lifted his head, dreading her reaction. Dreading no reaction at all, expecting to see a practiced smile that she used on all her clients to hide her apathy and dissatisfaction.

What he saw was her flushed cheeks, her eyes dark and glazed with lust. She was breathing hard. The sight of her arousal made his stomach flip-flop, and his spent cock twitch. She let her hands rest at his neck, holding him familiarly. He looked away, uncomfortable by her proximity and his inability to satiate her.

“How much longer until you can go again?” she asked.

He glanced at her, incredulous. “Again?”

“Uh-huh,” she crooned, her fingers caressing his skin, restless and encouraging.  She rolled her hips against him, milking his half-hard cock. “You can go again, can’t you? You’ve still got time.”

Holy _shit_.

Was she serious? Shouldn’t she be _happy_ that he came early? It made her job a lot easier, didn’t it? Unless she was trying to trick him into paying for more time.

…Or was she actually _keen_ on getting fucked?

It aggravated him that he couldn’t tell. Why could she read him so easily, when her motives were as opaque to him as her robe, in tatters on the floor after he had ripped it off her.

“It’s okay if you can’t,” she added, her voice moaning, still rolling her hips on his cock. “There’s so many other nice things we can do. What do you want to do to me while I’m yours?”

Do to her? He wanted to fuck her. And he had achieved that.

…What else was there?

He suddenly felt woefully lacking. He was half tempted to throw her off and leave before his ignorance became apparent and she laughed him out of her room. Yet he hesitated, maybe due to her breathless voice, or the way she humped him, or how she clung to him, their faces pressed so close together they were sharing the same breaths. He looked into her pretty, endlessly blue eyes, and he made a decision. He dared to be vulnerable in front of her in a way that he could never be in front of anyone else.

If it backfired, he could just kill her.

“What else is there?” he asked, his voice unusually quiet; for her ears only.

There was a flash of surprise in her eyes, but then her face eased into the warmest look she had given him yet. Leaning in, she nuzzled her nose against his, and he didn’t even notice that his tail wrapped around her waist.

“Let me show you.”

* * *

~xox~

 

She came, trembling beneath him, making exhausted, pathetic mewls of pleasure.

He pulled out of her, cum dribbling from her used pussy. He rolled to the side and collapsed on the bed they had moved to. He was utterly spent. So was she by the sounds of it. She made a plaintive sound at the loss of contact, still recovering from her own orgasm. Her third one of the night. He was too wrecked to currently pay her any attention. He was finished; drained in a way that training or battling had never left him. He could already feel the edges of sleep creep up on his consciousness, dragging him down, evening out his breaths.

“If you stay much longer, you’ll be charged for the whole night,” she told him languidly. He felt her cuddle up to his side. For some reason, he didn’t mind the intimacy.

“Hn,” he responded. Like he gave a damn at this point. When was the last time he had slept well? He would pay twice her rate to finally get a restful, dreamless sleep.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she murmured. She tucked her head against his shoulder and hooked her thigh over his legs. He frowned, grabbing her leg to adjust her until she was settled against him more comfortably. 

“So you’re staying?” she asked. Damnably persistent.

“Not if you keep _yapping_.”

“And? If I don’t stop talking, what? Will you punish me? Spank my little ass?”

Vegeta peeled open an eye to look at her. She was watching him, smirking.

He scowled, attempting to hide the confusing feelings her words stirred within him. 

“You’re the noisiest damn doll I’ve ever met,” he grumbled.

“If you didn’t like it, you wouldn’t have come back.”

Vegeta huffed, unable to argue her logic, and too tired to even try.

“Can I touch your tail?”

“No.”

“Why not? It’s touching me.”

Vegeta looked and saw she was right. His tail was half-curled over her thigh. He guiltily retracted it. “Go to sleep,” he told her.

“Mm, ’night then,” she sighed. Her dainty hand rested on his chest, her fingers rubbing lazy circles on his skin. Soothing, comforting.

He started drifting off to sleep.

“…How much longer until you can go again?” she asked wickedly.

He raised a hand and smacked her ass without a second thought.

She squealed, arching against him. Her fingers curled, and she shivered in delight in aftershock. Her reaction made his heart rate pick up, and the dark blanket of sleep that had been encroaching on his consciousness was pushed back.

“ _Yesss_ ,” she groaned. “Harder.”

He grabbed her ass and pulled her up, positioning her on his front so that he could better smack her. He spanked her again, harder than before, no doubt leaving a stinging, red mark.

She whimpered, and collapsed on top of him, grinding her pussy on his belly.

“Again, _please_.”

He grabbed her hips to still her. He slipped a hand down to finger her cunt, still thick with his seed. “What makes you think I take orders, especially from you?”

Her breath shuddered out. “Y-your eyes.” 

He narrowed his gaze dangerously, his tail snaking about her calf. To punish her for her insolence, hepushed two fingers inside her, stretching her out. 

“Nng Kami, you’re getting good at that,” she whimpered, her head dropping forward to hide her face behind her bangs.

He smirked in satisfaction, crooking his fingers inside her. She whimpered and rocked needfully on his hand. He wasn’t sure when her pleasure had become so interconnected with his own, but he didn’t really give a fuck at this point. He was past thinking, past caring, focused on riling up his little sex doll and using her for his own satisfaction.

“More,” she pleaded desperately

He removed his slick fingers, and slapped her ass again, the ringing sound echoing sharply in the room. She sobbed in gratitude.

He pulled her onto his cock, easily pushing inside her abused pussy. With their hips rolling together and her spanked bottom slapping on his thighs, Vegeta forgot all about sleep and everything else for that matter, lost to the oblivion that she enveloped him in.

 

* * *

~xoXox~

 Art by **[RedViolett](http://redviolett.tumblr.com/post/157166289777/for-tpthvegebulsmutfest-and-ladyvegeets-since)**

also by **[RedViolett](http://redviolett.tumblr.com/post/157280775027/what-makes-you-think-i-take-orders-especially)**

[ ](http://s1079.photobucket.com/user/ladyvegeets/media/Blue%20Doll%20Fanart/RedViolett_BlueDoll_03_zps85y8fain.jpg.html)

 

 **AN:** beta-read by the incredibly talented **Artephile** / **Marcella-Duchamp.**

This series was written for the Spring 2017 Vegebul Smutfest hosted by **The Prince and the Heiress** Google community.


	4. 04 Role Play (Illustrated)

**Blue Doll** , by LadyVegeets

**-04 Role Play-**

 

Raditz and Nappa were darting anxious glances his way. Vegeta steadfastly ignored them to read the memo on his scouter display for the third time, just to be clear he understood it correctly.

They were being ordered to stand down.

It appeared that some intricate galactic politics were in play. A dispute between Frieza, his brother, Cooler, and a few other powerful galactic ‘allies’ (that term being used more generously than literally) had come to a head. Until the politics could be resolved (or war was declared), all of the Frieza Force was to halt activities and remain on standby at their current locations.

It was essentially a forced vacation. Most would have been thrilled.

But not Vegeta. Being told what to do never settled well with him even in the best of situations, and this was far from that. Being told he couldn’t travel, couldn’t kill, couldn’t essentially do whatever the fuck pleased him in the name of galactic expansion, was tantamount to being collared. Caged. 

Or so it normally would have. Only, Vegeta was in what one could call a ‘good mood’, which was remarkable considering there was no blood on his hands, just the lingering scent of a blue sex doll’s juices still on his fingers, hidden under his gloves, and the peace that a good night’s sleep brought.

His men were waiting for the fallout, to see if Vegeta would blow something up, or tell them to ignore their orders and fly off to wipe out another unfortunate civilization. 

“Try not to get in my way, or I’ll kill you,” Vegeta told them nonchalantly. He walked away, off to inquire about the nearest training facility. If he was going to be stuck here a while, he would need something to keep himself busy with. That was, until night came around and he could visit the woman in secrecy.

Raditz and Nappa shared a look, floored by his lack of reaction. 

* * *

~xox~

 

It was strange to be returning to her so soon. Vegeta thought it would be weeks, months, or even years before he could see her again, _if_ he could see her again at all. Instead, it was less than a day later when he walked back into the brothel.

Was he overstaying his welcome returning so soon? Was it weird? Was there some unwritten etiquette about these things that he was unaware of? He wouldn’t know, he had never been to the same place more than once, and he was damned if he was going to ask Nappa or Raditz about proper protocol. Those idiots wouldn’t know protocol if it bit them on the tail.

_The fuck does it matter anyway? She’s a whore. You’re the client. She’ll open her legs for whoever has the credits._

His pep talk didn’t make him feel any better.

Neither did the sight of the S Rank room when it came into view: there was another costumer already perusing the wares. 

It was a Cephalopian, a creature that looked like the offspring of a Saiyan and octopus. Revolting. Vegeta stopped by the doorway, watching from a distance. If the Cephalopian was an abomination of nature, at least it had good taste. It was stood before the blue doll’s display, eyeing her critically.

Vegeta crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway. His tail tightened about his waist, the tip flicking restlessly.

The woman was sitting on her chair. She gave the Cephalopian a small, polite smile, before glancing down at her nail polish. Her demeanor was a far cry from the interest she had shown Vegeta upon their first meeting. He tried not to let it go to his head.

But he failed as soon as she looked up and saw him. Her face lit up, and a strange warmth coursed through him. She stood, approaching the glass, pressing her hands to her window, totally ignoring the other client to smile at him. Vegeta’s fingers tightened on his biceps, resisting the urge to smile back.

The Cephalopian turned to see what had caught the girl’s eye. It and Vegeta eyed each other off, assessing the threat of the other. Vegeta smirked. There were only a handful of people in the universe that could best him, and he knew exactly who and where they were. He also knew the Cephalopian would underestimate him because of his size. Everyone always did. Everyone always regretted it.

“You don’t want that one. She’s too mouthy,” Vegeta commented, still leaning lazily against the doorway.

The Cephalopian didn’t respond, eyeing him with unreadable, glassy eyes.

“I don’t think it knows the galactic tongue,” the woman commented.

The creature blinked.

Vegeta’s tail twitched.

“Just because it doesn’t _speak_ the language, doesn’t mean it doesn’t _understand_ it,” Vegeta replied carefully. She was probably right, but he wasn’t going to take any chances. Vegeta looked away, and walked over to a different display, pretending to be interested in one of the other S Rank dolls. From the corner of his eye, he saw the Cephalopian turn back to stare at the blue-haired woman.

“Hey!” the woman called out to him, tapping on the glass. She sounded nervous, almost panicked. It made him smile. It felt good to be the one ruffling her feathers for a change. 

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Browsing,” he replied, schooling his face into nonchalance. “You seem occupied. I would hate to interfere.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Watch me.”

There was a strange, shrill clacking sound. The Cephalopian was chirping at the blue doll. It pressed a long, sucking tentacle to the glass.

The woman went pale. Her blue eyes darted from the tentacle, up to Vegeta. She didn’t say anything. She had no authority or right to ask for his help. But she didn’t have to. It was written so clearly in her trembling blue eyes.

He shouldn’t care. What difference was it to him if some other thing fucked her? She was a whore. That’s what she did: get fucked by others. But it was different actually _seeing_ the transaction taking place, knowing what the client looked like, imagining those horrendous tentacles slipping all over her, wriggling, sucking, violating her. Knowing he could stop it, at least this once, if he cared to intervene.

Besides, that’s what he was here for, right? To fuck her? He was Vegeta, Prince of All Saiyans. He didn’t _wait_ for his turn. It was _always_ his turn. He wasn’t saving her, he was just taking what was rightfully his.

Right?

The Cephalopian’s tentacle smeared slime all over the window while the woman struggled not to look horrified. But at some point her robe had come apart. The idiot. Had she no shame? No wonder the Cephalopian was drooling over her. She was unwittingly showing off her creamy belly and her soft little cunt. The sight of it made Vegeta’s cock start to swell and his blood rush through him in a familiar fight or flight response. Vegeta always chose fight.

The creature peeled its limb off the window and dug in its pockets. It pulled out a card, ready to swipe its credits for a session with the girl. Vegeta felt a bolt of urgency jolt through him.

He slapped his hand over the sensor before the Cephalopian could scan its card. He didn’t even remember moving, acting on pure instinct. But he was committed now. The Cephalopian turned its inky gaze onto him.

Vegeta returned the stare, peeling his lips back from his canines in a nasty grin. “I told you before. You _don’t_ want this one.”

It was a standoff. Neither moved. The Cephalopian looked at Vegeta, taking in his armor, his aggressive posture, and his dark, wild gaze. Vegeta ever-so-subtly shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, preparing to attack. His blood rushed, pumping adrenalin through him, whetting his appetite for a fight. How easily would those tentacles pop off? His black eyes burned with manic excitement at the thought.

Slowly, carefully, the Cephalopian pocketed its card. It backed up a few paces, turned, and left. Vegeta didn’t lower his guard until the creature was out of sight, amused that the thing had the sense to flee.

Disappointed that he didn’t get his fight.

Finally, he turned and saw the woman watching him, her pale eyes wide, startled.

Was she scared? For him? Of him? Vegeta normally relished instilling fear in others, but the idea of her being terrified of him was… somehow less appealing.

He pulled out his card, hesitant, if just for a moment. Then he pushed his weakness aside, crushing it with his usual brutality. Maintaining eye contact with her, daring her to deny him, he swiped his card against the sensor. She watched him pay for her with an unreadable expression, unusually quiet.

Something had changed. He could feel it.

When his credits cleared for payment, a door to the side unlocked. He hesitated to step inside, uncertain of her behavior. Her own door in the back of her display opened. She glanced at him from over her shoulder before she stepped through and slipped out of sight.

He followed her lead, stepped inside the door, heading up the stairs to her private room. Apprehension twisted in his gut. 

When he let himself into her room, she threw herself on him. He took a step back in surprise, but the familiar smell of her and the warm press of her body ignited something explosive inside him. He gathered her up in his arms.

“You can do _anything_ you want to me,” she whispered fiercely in his ear. 

The apprehension building inside him shattered, bursting with relief.

“Like I need your permission,” he growled back, trying to sound cocky to cover up for the fact that he thought he had fucked things up between them. He wrenched her robe off her slender shoulders and crushed her against the nearest wall. He reached for her exposed cunt with his gloved hand, surprised to find her already wet. He pushed a finger inside her, gloves and all.

She arched against him, moaning loudly. “H-oh Kami!”

“You’re wet,” he commented, pushing another finger into her.

She whimpered, writhing restlessly between him and the wall. “I get wet whenever I see you.”

He wanted to scoff, but how could he when the evidence of her confession was right in front of him, soaking through his gloves as he finger-fucked her?

She glanced at him through slitted, desire-filled eyes, her cheeks rosy with lust. “Would you have fought him?” she asked.

“What?”

“The other client,” she explained, her voice breathless as he fingered her. “If he hadn’t backed down. Would you have fought him?”

“No,” Vegeta replied matter-of-factly. “I would have killed him.”

Her tight, tiny cunt fluttered around his fingers. “H-oh..! Th-they would have kicked you out for it,” she said, sounding more excited than concerned.

He leaned in, pressing his brow to hers, staring unflinchingly into her eyes. “I would like to see them try,” he purred threateningly.

Her breath stuttered out, her eyes sparking wildly. “Y-you’re that strong?”

She was getting off on his strength, his potential for violence. He grinned viciously. “I am. Stronger than you could imagine. I could destroy this measly planet with the flick of a finger,” he assured her, and just for good measure, curled his fingers inside her. 

She jolted and moaned, her hips moving desperately against his hand. Her mouth hovered precariously close to his own, panting against his mouth. “Do you destroy a lot of planets?”

“Sometimes,” he admitted. 

“That’s not very nice,” she chastised.

“Tch. Being nice is for weaklings.”

“ _I_ think you’re nice,” she murmured huskily.

He glared at her, frowning, confused as to why he felt _flattered_ about that. “There’s not a single nice thing about me,” he denied. “I’m a very bad man.”

She laughed softly. Not the reaction he was expecting. “That’s okay. I’m a very bad girl.”

He growled, partly in annoyance. Mostly in arousal. This conversation was too confusing. He just wanted to bury himself in her and forget about who he was, his life, his bad deeds, everything. He pulled his fingers from her, dismissing her moan of protest. He leaned back enough to pull his armor and gloves off and toss them aside, not caring where they landed. He reached down to free himself from his suit, but her hands beat him to it. 

“Allow me.”

She reverently pulled him from his pants, stroking his thick, hard shaft with skillful fingers. His eyelids half-lowered, appeased. She treated him well, the way a prince ought to be worshipped. His tail snuck up, wrapping around her waist, keeping her close.

“You see?” she commented with a smug smile as she tugged silkily on his cock. “ _This_ part of you is very nice.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, but she didn’t take the hint.

“There’s a lot about you that’s nice. You don’t have to be a bad man if you don’t want to, you know. Not here. You can be anything you want to be here.”

He braced his arm on the wall above her head, leaning towards her. “Fantasy is for those unable to accept reality.” 

“Or for those who dream of something better,” she countered.

Oh please, spare him the dreamy-eyed rhetoric. “How the fuck is a whore an idealist?” he asked scathingly.

“How is a prince a pessimist?” she replied with a sultry smile. “You can destroy planets and buy the most beautiful woman in this brothel — and dare-I-say, galaxy — and yet you are so jaded and unhappy.”

He stiffened, his tail tightening dangerously around her. “…What makes you think I’m unhappy?”

As soon as he asked the question, he knew what her answer would be.

“Your eyes.”

Damn her.

She gave him a bitter-sweet smile. “Well, maybe not unhappy. Lonely, I guess. Why else would you be here?”

“Not for your lip,” he snarled, pressing his weight into her, not the least bit pleased she was trying to analyze him. “Don’t project your own pathetic emotions onto me. I’m here for your cunt. Nothing more.”

“Then why not fuck one of the others? Why risk a fight to have me if any cunt will do?”

He opened his mouth to argue, but nothing came out. 

_Because the others don’t interest me. Because the others don’t haunt me, day and night. Because fucking them wouldn’t allow me the most restful sleep I’ve had in years. Because the other whores don’t look at me the way you do. They don’t smile at me, or cum for me._

She was the only woman who made him feel like more than just a client. She made him feel like a man.

A man that mattered.

He was still struggling to think of a reply when it occurred to him he didn’t owe her one. How long had he been in the habit of answering her questions? Perhaps coming back here so soon had been an ill idea.

And then she did the damnedest thing.

She kissed him.

It was soft, almost chaste, her lips warmly pressing over his. He stilled in shock, unable to respond.

She leaned back, and gave him a coy smile, her fingers still teasing his cock. “Thank you for coming back.”

His mind was a mess, he could hardly process what was going on. “I didn’t come back for you,” he replied automatically, hollowly. 

“I know,” she said, giving him a secretive smile. “But I’m still happy you did.”

 _I don’t care what you think_ , he wanted to say, but if that were true, why was he blushing? He scowled and did the only thing he could think to do. He knocked her hand away and pushed himself into her hot little hole.

She sighed in exquisite satisfaction, her eyes fluttering closed. “Oooh yesss, good boy,” she crooned.

“Tch.” He pressed himself up against her, cheek to cheek, so that he could avoid her eyes as he slowly pistoned inside her. “Is that what you fantasize me to be? A good man?” he asked cruelly. “Some charming prince, come to save you?”

“Do you think I need saving?” she replied breathlessly, her hands stroking his back. “We can go with that. If you want to be my hero, I’ll let you. It’s all possible here. And I think you’re nicer than you let on.”

“Then you’re a fool,” he grumbled, but he couldn’t put much vehemence in his words. She was the first person to ever believe in him, to see potential in him that went beyond genocide.

And that made him unbearably uncomfortable. He deflected by throwing the focus back on her. “And who would you be? Some helpless imprisoned princess?”

“No,” she moaned. “I would be a genius scientist, a space explorer traversing the galaxy for secret technology in a craft I built myself, until space pirates caught me and sold me into slavery.”

“Oh?” he asked, getting the uneasy feeling that her words rang with more truth than fancy. 

“Mm-hmm. And what about you, bad man? What would you be?”

Vegeta fucked her thoughtfully. “…A prince without a throne, without people or a planet,” he said so softly she could only hear because he spoke against her ear. “Unable to fulfill a prophecy or break the shackles of a powerful overlord.”

“What a dark make-believe we imagine,” she commented sadly. “We both get fucked over.”

He didn’t respond right away. It felt… oddly cathartic to admit that to her, even if he did so under the guise of role playing.

“What would I call the scientist?” he finally asked.

“Bulma,” she said. Of course. He had all but forgotten that she had a name. She hadn’t been a person to him, just a toy he could fuck and who stroked his ego nicely. And for that, he almost felt guilty.

“And the prince?” she asked him.

“…Vegeta.”

“A strong name for a strong warrior prince,” she complimented. His tail squeezed her middle thankfully.

She wrapped her arms around him, and he fucked her slowly against the wall. When she came, she sobbed his name loudly into the confines of their room.

* * *

 

~xoXox~

Fanart by **[Rutbisbe](http://rutbisbe.tumblr.com/post/163065017816/sorry-to-repost-it-just-like-that-without-warning)**

[ ](http://s1079.photobucket.com/user/ladyvegeets/media/Blue%20Doll%20Fanart/BlueDollRutbisbe_Embrace_zpskmofwbqk.jpg.html)

**AN:** beta-read by the incredibly talented **Artephile** / **Marcella-Duchamp.**

This series was written for the Spring 2017 Vegebul Smutfest hosted by **The Prince and the Heiress** Google community.


	5. 05 Dom/Sub (Illustrated)

**Blue Doll** , by LadyVegeets

**-05 Dom/Sub-**

 

If being in the military taught him little else, it was that routine was important. It made things neat, streamlined, organized, and efficient. 

Routine was second nature to him. Vegeta woke up early each morning in the brothel, prying himself out from under the woman’s limbs. He would return to his hotel he had yet to spend a night in, and break his fast there, sometimes running into Nappa or Raditz whom he would barely acknowledge with a passing grunt. He spent his days training, running through endless katas, sweating and grunting in the ever dwindling hope that one day he would be strong enough to take on his oppressor, and maybe even find the secret to the Legendary that his father had waxed poetics about in Vegeta’s youth.

Afterwards, Vegeta would eat, shower, then venture back to the brothel. He would lose himself in the woman’s body before sinking into the sweet oblivion of sleep, her room somehow guarding against the nightmarish voices of his past, and from the deep-seated feeling of unfulfillment that always haunted him.

She smiled each time he arrived. Bulma would spring from her chair and press against the glass, her eyes eating him up as he approached. He often delayed swiping his card just to banter with her. Her words stirred his interest as much as her body did. Which was odd, because Vegeta didn’t like to be teased, but he allowed her to do so. He even encouraged it by delaying their intimacy. It become part of the game. Part of their routine. When he finally paid for her, she would give him a last, lust-filled look, before leaving to meet him in their room. Once there, she instantly embraced him, whispering needy, naughty things in his ear as she rubbed against him like a bitch in heat. 

They would fuck for hours, both cumming multiple times, until one or the other could no longer carry on, and even that wouldn’t always stop them. She taught him about pleasure; his own as well as hers. Exhausted and satiated, they sometimes exchanged words that seemed harmless enough to him that he found himself responding against his better nature to be closed-lipped.

“What’s your favorite color?” she asked him one time as she rode his cock. They were in a chair, and she was in his lap like a queen on a mount. Her breasts bounced pleasingly in his face.

“What kind of asinine question is that?” he groaned, his hands on her hips, his tail about her waist, but he let her control the pace.

“Mine’s pink,” she gasped as she slid up and down his length. “What’s yours?”

He rolled his eyes. Like he gave a fuck. The Saiyan royal colors were blue, red and gold, so perhaps one of those… He looked up at her flushed face, sparkling blue eyes waiting expectantly for his answer and feathery-soft blue hair a mess. His hands tightened possessively on her hips.

“Blue.”

She smiled broadly, and leaned in to kiss him. She was doing that more frequently, and every time it tripped him up and left him feeling scattered and helpless.

The next evening when he visited, she was wearing blue.

She wanted to know more about who he was. He told her of his people’s history. He spoke of their rise and fall like it happened long ago, to someone else. In a way it had. He had been so young when he suddenly became the prince of two instead of an entire planet. She had looked at him sadly, and without being told, she climbed onto his cock and fucked him so sweetly that, for a while, he forgot about the emptiness from the loss of his race. He wanted to ask about her people, but he got caught up in the tantalizing roll of her wet cunt and by the time he remembered to ask, the moment had passed, and he decided against it. What good was speaking of her people anyway, when she was likely never to see them again?

She asked how long she could expect him to visit, and he told her that he didn’t know. Any day he could get the alert to return to duty. But he tried not to dwell on it, and she didn’t bring it up again. He, more than most, knew that nothing lasted forever. And so did she, he suspected.

Then it happened.

One night, she was not there.

Vegeta stared at her empty display and felt an ugly, black emptiness bubble inside him. Her name plaque was there. Her display unchanged. She wasn’t gone. Just bought for a few hours.

_Of course. She’s a whore. That’s what happens._

Logically, he understood the concept. But he had grown spoilt by their routine. Ever since he began buying her for the whole night, he had owned her exclusively. Business was slow during the day, and she was so expensive that it spared her from the usual clientele. Vegeta could tell from the smell of her room that no one else had visited her since he had been stationed on the planet.

Until now. 

His tail twisted unhappily around his middle as he weighed his options. He found a wall to lean against, crossed his arms, and waited.

And waited, stewing and growing gradually more and more pissed. 

Finally, the door to the back opened. A masculine man, reptilian in appearance, exited. 

Vegeta eyed the man heavily, his gaze tracking the creature’s every movement. When the man passed him by, Vegeta flinched.

Her scent was all over him.

His knuckles white, Vegeta pressed himself into the wall, struggling not to decapitate the man for touching his property.

He let the man go.

Vegeta remained waiting, his face stormy.

It was another twenty minutes before Bulma returned to her display, by which point Vegeta was livid.

“The fuck have you been?” he snapped at her, storming over to her window when she appeared. His eyes rove over her, searching for… what, he didn’t know. Signs of her sexual exploits? Abuse? Unhappiness?

She looked like she always did. And that made him feel worse.

Shouldn’t she look more miserable to have been fucked by someone that wasn’t him?

“I was showering,” she told him gently.

He sneered at her. “You _know_ I visit around this time. I’ve been waiting for a goddamn hour.”

She gave him a sympathetic smile, pressing her hands to the glass. “I know, I’m sorry. I had a client. I tried to make it fast.”

Vegeta didn’t like that, didn’t like it one bit. What the fuck did that even mean, make it fast? Had she given that reptile some special treatment, worked harder than usual just to end the session quickly?

Fuck.

“Go upstairs,” he snapped at her, swiping his card without looking at her anymore. He stormed over to the door and headed inside. 

When he stepped into their room he saw nothing had changed, but everything felt wrong, at least to his acute Saiyan senses. The sheets on the bed were fresh, and the room was still humid and smelt of strawberries from her shower. All in an attempt to cover up her previous guest. The beginnings of a growl started forming in Vegeta’s chest and his tail puffed in agitation.

She came in wearing a thin ivory gown. He grabbed her wrist before she could greet him and jerked her closer.

She stumbled, surprised by his manhandling. “Vegeta! Careful, we have all night.”

He ignored her, tugging her about roughly to look her over. “Did he hurt you?” he asked irritably, scanning her creamy flesh for bruises.

“What? No, he— oh!” 

Vegeta pressed his nose right up against her throat, sniffing her skin. Her scent was soft and familiar, comforting and alluring. In better circumstances, it would have stirred his arousal and quelled his rage.

But it wasn’t the only scent on her. She had showered, but the other man’s scent lingered, like stale smoke.

Vegeta bared his canines, disgusted.

The smell teased the edges of his senses, mocking. He wouldn’t be able to relax until it was gone. Vegeta sniffed down her throat, trying to find the source. He moved between her breasts, over her belly, and finally settled at the apex of her thighs. His fingers tightened on her hips.

“You stink of him.”

Her eyes widened. Before she could reply, he shoved her back onto the bed and followed her down. He smacked her legs open, baring her fluttering cunt to his cold gaze. He leaned in and smelled her.

And nearly gagged.

“What the hell are you doing?” she finally yelled at him, grabbing a pillow from the bed and throwing it at his face. Vegeta batted it away and snarled at her.

“You let him CUM in you?!” he roared at her at full volume.

Her eyes grew large, and she shrank on the bed, intimidated by the full force of his ire.

“I’m a whore, Vegeta,” she reminded him quietly.

“YOU’RE _MINE!”_ he snarled, bowing over her aggressively. “You should have refused! You should have _waited for me!”_ He bellowed.

Bulma closed her eyes, trembling beneath him. She took in a few breaths, trying to calm down. When she opened her eyes, he saw a fire there that he wasn’t expecting.

“For how long?” she asked him coldly.

“What?”

“How long was I supposed to wait for you?” she elaborated, glaring at him unflinchingly. “An hour? Two? A day? A week? You told me yourself you could be called away at any minute. Every morning you leave, I think it could be the last I will ever see you!” She glared at him as she confessed. Her cheeks burned hotly. She turned her head away, breathing hard. Her eyes shimmered worryingly.

She was right, but that didn’t make him feel any better. He struggled to think of how to reply, not used to the ugly jealousy and possessiveness that was boiling in his veins.

“You could be _infected_ for all I know,” he snarled, his words intentionally ugly, lashing out.

“…I’ve been vaccinated,” she replied, her voice unusually hollow. “We all have here, whether we wanted to be or not.”

He glared down at her, irritated that she always had a fucking answer. “Did he make you cum?” he asked cruelly, though he didn’t know why. He didn’t want to know her reply.

“Get out,” she told him, her voice small.

“What?”

“I don’t want to see you right now,” she explained, still not looking at him.

“To hell with what _you_ want,” he snarled. “I paid for you. I’m not leaving until I get my credits worth.”

That got her attention. She looked at him, her face breaking into alarm. Before she could think to do something stupid like run or fight him, Vegeta grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder. She yelped in fear and struggled, but he easily carried her to the bathroom. He tossed her into the shower with more force than was necessary. Her back hit the wall and she let out a stunned breath.

She tried to move away from him, but he shoved her back against the wall. He tore her robe from her body as easily as if it were rice paper.

“V-Vegeta, stop it!” she begged shrilly, attempting to cover her nudity with her arms.

He ignored her to turn on the shower. He set it to hot, then handed her the removable shower head.

She took it with trembling fingers, uncertain.

“Clean yourself up,” he told her in a low voice. Then he stepped away, leaning against the opposite wall to watch and stand guard, folding his arms impatiently.

She looked at him with trepidation, still in shock. He glared back at her. He had years of practice staring down enemies and making them cower. Finally, her gaze slipped away. She brought the shower head up to her shoulders and started wetting her body.

“Properly,” he snapped at her. “That’s not where he left his repulsive mark on you.”

She lowered her head, hiding her face behind her bangs. She brought the shower head down to spray against her cunt.

“Spread them,” he told her.

She parted her legs, for once submissive. He watched her unsympathetically.

Something caught his hearing. A small sound, barely distinguishable over the running water. But steadily it grew, until he realized with gut-wrenching horror that she was crying.

Bulma wiped at her eyes with a trembling palm, her breath hitching on her sobs as she carried out his humiliating orders.

Her crying froze him to the spot and turned his blood cold. His skin crawled from it, itching to be free of the situation. Vegeta couldn’t remember a time he felt more uncomfortable. He looked away, rattled by this turn of events. His tail swished behind him.

“…Stop,” he finally said. He glanced at her but either she hadn’t heard or didn’t care, still weeping and holding the water against her cunt.

“Stop it,” he said again, more firmly. He uncrossed his arms, his tail twisting anxiously in the air.

She shook her head, unable to stop crying.

He hissed in agitation and stepped forward. Placing his hand over hers, he gently pushed the shower head away.

“Bulma, you can stop,” he told her softly, speaking her name aloud for the first time.

 The shower head fell from her fingers and clattered to the tile below. She pressed her face against his chest, crying brokenly. Her tiny fist rose and beat against his chest plate, no doubt hurting her hand more than it hurt him. 

“You a-asshole,” she sobbed. She hit him again before curling her fingers on his armor, holding herself up by it. “Do you think I wanted to get fucked by him? Do you think I wanted to get fucked by any of them?”

Vegeta felt his stomach knot. He had known, objectively, that most whores were sex slaves. But he hadn’t spared them any thought. Why would he? The universe was a cruel place. Survival of the fittest. Everyone had their sob story. He didn’t feel sorry for anyone. There was no room for pity in space, not when your own survival hinged on being the strongest, on having zero weaknesses that could be exploited.

That’s what he tried to tell himself as he stared down at the pathetic, trembling creature before him. He didn’t feel bad for her, or pity her, not in the least. If his chest tightened or his gut churned at her tears, it was for unrelated reasons. He didn’t want to hunt down the asshole that had cum in her less than an hour ago. And he certainly didn’t think about ripping out the reptile’s spine, bringing the dislodged head back to her as a trophy so that she might be sleep tonight, knowing there was one less rapist in the universe willing to capitalize on her misfortune.

Fuck.

Vegeta reached out and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around her shivering shoulders. “Go to bed,” he told her, not unkindly.

She shook her head, still not looking at him. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I still… I’m not clean yet.”

Vegeta’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Just do as I say, woman.”

“I can’t… I don’t want it inside me.”

He huffed, considering what to do. At last he came to a decision, and put his hands on her hips. He sank before her, pressing his nose to her pussy. He smelt her, inhaling her intoxicating, feminine scent, and the stringent, bitter stench of the other male. Fuck, it was still there. She was right. But wasn’t she always? Had she ever not been right? Had she ever done anything but tell him the truth? It was kind of ironic to think that in all the universe, Vegeta had found someone he could trust to be honest with him, and it was a goddamn whore.

Then again, she wasn’t just any whore.

She was his.

His Bulma.

“I’ll handle it,” he told her gruffly.

He lifted his hand, biting the glove at his fingertips. With a deft tug, he pulled his hand free, and let the glove drop to the tile. Fingers bared, Vegeta touched her vulva. 

She made a soft sound of surprise. He looked up at her. She had stopped crying, her eyelashes dotted with tears. She was watching him with big, wide eyes.

He held her gaze, his own laden with an unasked question, with words and intentions he was incapable of verbally expressing.

And oddly enough, she understood. She nodded, giving her consent.

He slipped his middle finger inside her. 

Bulma exhaled, arching back against the shower wall. He eased his finger in and out of her until he could add a second. With deliberate care, he scooped out the remains her last client had left, as if he could somehow erase the act from happening as easily as he could be rid of the evidence.

Bulma moaned as he dug about inside her cunt, stretching her wide, fingering her deeply. She put one hand on the shoulder of his armor for support, the other slapping against the wall. Her thighs trembled. 

His tail twitched as a sweet, familiar smell invaded his nostrils. Her arousal was his aphrodisiac. He narrowed his eyes, quickly changing priorities from cleaning to pleasure. He always had been good at improvising.

He curled his fingers, rubbing against the spot he knew got her the most wet, and relished the whimper it earned him. 

“No one else is going to touch you again,” he told her, the words escaping his mouth before he could weigh their implication.

She gasped and looked at him with darkening eyes, her breathing growing erratic. “V-Vegeta, you know that’s not possible.”

He growled, displeased by her lack of faith. “You don’t think I can keep you safe?”

“That’s not what I meant…”

He plunged harder insider her, his fingers growing slick. She whimpered, her hips urgently working to meet his hand. 

“Kami!” she sobbed, her hand dragging him closer. 

She was so pretty like this when she lost control, losing herself to her pleasure. He leaned in and mouthed the soft inside of her thigh. He thought about marking her, to lay his claim on her over all others. 

Her knees buckled. “Vegeta!” she whined.

“Good girl,” he growled. His tail snaked up her leg possessively. “You’re mine, Bulma. You belong to me. Only I touch you. Only I cum in you. Do you understand?” 

“I can’t,” she protested breathlessly. “The rules—”

“Do you understand?” he growled, and pushed a third, thick finger into her pulsing cunt.

“Yes~!” she moaned helplessly, bending back in ecstasy. “Only you!”

He fucked her roughly in reward, his fingers pressing ruthlessly against her weak spot. He bit her thigh, hard, his canines breaking her skin. She came on his hand, screaming his name, as the taste of her blood filled his mouth.

* * *

~xox~

 

He cleaned her with sweet soaps and hot water. The scent of the intruding man was gone, washed down the drain for good.

He carried her to bed and he pulled off his armor to curl up with her, his tail wrapped firmly around her middle.

“What about you?” she murmured sleepily, both physically and emotionally drained.

He pressed his chest closer to her back, his cock snug against her bottom. “Sleep,” he told her firmly.

“You’ll be here when I wake?” she asked.

“I will,” he lied.

She drifted off.

He watched her breathe for close to an hour, the rise and fall of her chest soothing his troubled heart.

When he was certain she wouldn’t wake, he carefully untangled himself from her and got up. He dressed and left with a last look back, before heading down to the front desk.

The 6-eyed receptionist blinked at him with disinterest. “Yes?”

“How much for private privilege to the Blue Doll?” 

“We offer exclusive rights to your favorite doll in six month increments,” the alien told him blandly.

Vegeta slid his card across the counter without hesitation. “Make it happen.” 

 

* * *

~xoXox~

Fanart by **stupidoomdoodles**

[ ](http://s1079.photobucket.com/user/ladyvegeets/media/Blue%20Doll%20Fanart/Dooms_BlueDoll_Shower_zpsicykeexk.jpg.html)

 

 **AN:** beta-read by the incredibly talented **Artephile** / **[Marcella-Duchamp](http://marcella-duchamp.tumblr.com).**

 **Fanart** : stupidoomdoodles and [redviolett](http://redviolett.tumblr.com) have both done some amazing fanart for this story. Be sure to check it out and tell them how talented they are! My beta has also hinted at some fanart coming our way too, so keep your eyes peeled ;)

This series was written for the Spring 2017 Vegebul Smutfest hosted by **The Prince and the Heiress** Google community.


	6. 06 Lingerie

Vegeta stared at the red membership card that gave him direct and exclusive access to Bulma’s room at the brothel.

It was the most expensive thing he had ever bought.

Especially considering he wasn’t using it.

He hadn’t visited her since buying her rights, which also meant he hadn’t slept well in days. His katas, normally an assured way of grounding his thoughts, did little to settle his mind. It didn’t matter how much he sweated or pushed himself, it wasn’t enough. Something uneasy rattled within him. Like a pebble in his shoe that he couldn’t dislodge, the annoyance grew. It consumed him, infuriating him incessantly, plaguing him day and night.

And the only thing that could alleviate his inner turmoil came in the form of the one person he was trying to avoid. He couldn’t bring himself to face her, not when the thought of seeing Bulma left an ashy aftertaste in his mouth. What had transpired the other night in the bathroom made him feel uncomfortable. He had been so angry about another man fucking her, that it never occurred to him that he was no different. He was just another client forcing himself on her for money. 

Guilt wasn’t something Vegeta was accustomed to dealing with. So he just avoided it instead.

Each morning when he woke from a few miserable hours of nightmares, filled with indistinguishable faces and a lurking sense of disquiet, Vegeta hoped to find a memo on his scouter with news that he could leave this goddamn planet. He needed to purge himself of his aggravation through bloodshed. He fantasized about bones breaking and hot blood soaking into his gloves. But the moment he thought of blood, he was reminded of her own and how it had tasted on his tongue. He grew hard remembering how his teeth had sunk into her and how her moans had sounded; her voice breaking in sweet agony as she cried out _his_ name.

He found himself frustrated throughout the nights. He considered finding another whore. He just needed release, needed to get over _her_ , but the idea of fucking someone other than Bulma did nothing for him. It even made him feel guiltier somehow.

The fuck was wrong with him? She had _ruined_ him.

Vegeta made an agitated sound and put the membership card aside, unsure of why he was staring at it in the first place. He should just burn the damn thing if he didn’t plan on using it. But he couldn’t bring himself to do so.

His scouter beeped. Vegeta picked it up gratefully, then instantly grimaced at the ID.

“I told you not to disturb me,” he snapped at Raditz.

“Someone delivered a package for you at the front,” Raditz replied. “Want me to bring it up?”

“What is it?”

“A package.”

“No shit, _idiot_. Who’s it from?”

“Er, let’s see… Some ‘Aurora Bolide’? Huh, that sounds familiar…”

Vegeta sat bolt upright. He glanced at the membership card, and in little print at the bottom, was ‘Aurora Bolide, Brothel of Exotic Delights _’_.

“Bring it here _now_ ,” he snarled.

A minute later Raditz was at his door, waving a small box around in his massive paw. “Delivery!”

Vegeta snatched the package from him. “Careful, you moron, what if it’s fragile?!”

Raditz shrugged. “Doesn’t sound like it.” His face split into a wolfish grin. “Doesn’t smell like it either.”

Vegeta felt a black rage explode inside him. “The fuck are you doing _smelling_ my property?”

“Couldn’t help it. The damn thing is oozing with pheromones. If you don’t want whatever it is, I’ll take the scrummy thing off your hands—”

Vegeta’s fist connected into Raditz’s stomach with a satisfying _thunk_. 

Raditz dropped to his knees. Vegeta slammed the door in his face.

“You’re _welcome,_ ” Raditz wheezed from behind the door.

Vegeta ignored him and headed to a chair to sit down, tearing open the box. Raditz was right. The package contained a scent that Vegeta was all too achingly familiar with it.

Inside was a piece of cloth. Curiously, Vegeta lifted it for inspection. It was tiny, made of delicate silk, a dark navy blue, with burgundy lace accents. _Royal Saiyan colors_.

Turning the cloth around, it soon became apparent what it was. Women’s lingerie.

 _Her_ lingerie. Her scent was all over it.

Vegeta’s stomach clenched in longing. His fingers curled possessively over the cloth. It had been only days since he was with her, but the smell of her made it feel like years. 

In the privacy of his room, Vegeta brought the undergarment to his nose and inhaled deeply. She must have worn it while wet, perhaps even touching herself; her smell was soaked into it. It invaded his nostrils like a drug, heavily perfumed with erotic promises. A pathetic growl of need escaped him. His tail looked for its mate to wrap around, but she wasn’t there.

Why wasn’t he with her? He was struggling to remember his reasoning of keeping his distance.

His eyes slit open and he saw a note in the box. He pulled it out and read it.

_Vegeta. I guess you got called back to duty since I haven’t seen you these past few days. When I was told you had reserved me, I could hardly believe it. I waited all day for you. I wanted to thank you in person. But it wasn’t meant to be. Did you know you were leaving when you bought me, or did that happen afterwards? I guess I’ll never know… I guess it doesn’t matter._

_Will I ever see you again?_

_I miss you. I know you’ll just scoff at that, but I do. I miss the feel of your hands on me, and your skin on mine. I miss the way you blush when you’re embarrassed or worked up. I miss our talks. But mostly I miss your eyes; the way you always looked at me._

_I don’t even know if you’ll get this, but if you do, thank you. You helped me remember that sex can be fun, and intimate, and liberating. Being here, what I am, I nearly forgot that._

_If you could have one wish, anything, no matter how impossible, what would you wish for?_

_Would it be naive to wish for one more night with you?_

_Probably, right?_

_I guess I am just a silly idealist._

_…I don’t know what I’m going to do after six months have passed. I’m grateful for the time you’ve bought me, but I can’t go back to being their slave. I won’t._

_Looks like the scientist and the prince don’t live happily ever after in this story._

_—B._

Vegeta sat, stunned, the words taking a while to sink in.

His heart was thumping wildly in his ribcage. It hurt. His chest felt impossibly tight, and something like panic started to break out over his skin.

The letter hadn’t even drifted to the floor by the time he burst out the door, racing towards the brothel, her panties still tightly clutched in his hand.

 

* * *

~xoXox~

 

 **AN:** beta-read by the incredibly talented **Artephile** / **Marcella-Duchamp.**

 **Fanart** : @stupidoomdoodles and @redviolett have both done some amazing fanart for this story. Be sure to check it out and tell them how talented they are! My beta has also hinted at some fanart coming our way too, so keep your eyes peeled ;)

This series was written for the Spring 2017 Vegebul Smutfest hosted by **The Prince and the Heiress** Google community.


	7. 07 Bondage

******-07 Bondage-**

 

Vegeta crashed through the door to her room and looked frantically about, her letter leading him to expect the worst.

She was standing by a chest of drawers. Her eyes widened at his unexpected entrance. 

“Vegeta?”

His heart pounded madly. He couldn’t catch his breath. Raking his eyes over her, he was overwhelmingly relieved to find her well. To find her there at all. 

She was wearing clothes, _proper_ clothes: a pair of satin shorts and a tank top. It was nothing fancy, sleepwear by the looks of it, but it was the first respectable ‘everyday’ outfit he had seen her in. It made her look like her own person and not a sex slave.

She spotted his hand, holding her panties.

“You got my package? But, I thought—”

He couldn’t contain himself any longer. Vegeta crossed the small divide between them in four swift strides, dropping her panties along the way. He scooped her into his powerful arms and set her on the drawers, crushing his mouth to hers.

Bulma let out a sound of amazement. It was all the hesitation she gave before kissing him back. Her legs hooked over his hips, her arms pulled him in. Her fingers played with the hair at the back of his neck. It made his whole spine tingle. His tail snuck under her top, wrapping around her middle and up between her breasts, holding her close.

“Mmm, Vegeta,” she moaned contentedly into his mouth. 

A growl of desire rumbled from his chest in response. The way she said his name awoke a beast inside of him. He wanted more of her and yearned to push her to her limits until she was sobbing his name, over and over. He yanked his gloves off, desperate to feel her. Pressing his hands to her creamy thighs, he pushed her legs wider in the same way he did when she begged him to fuck her deeper. 

His thumb encountered something rough as he slid along her skin. He pulled away from her mouth to inspect the imperfection.

Bulma’s inner thigh was bruised and scabbed over, the surrounding skin marred a deep blue from where he had bitten her. It shocked him to see the damage he had wrought. A Saiyan would have healed far quicker from such a small injury, yet she was still mending days after the fact.

“Your people,” he said, voice hoarse, floundering to remember the term she had used.

“Mm? Humans?”

“Yes. Is it normal for humans to have such poor regeneration?”

Bulma looked down at where his thumb brushed over her wound.  “I… suppose so? Do Saiyans heal faster?”

“Much,” he replied, frowning. It hadn’t occurred to him that marking her might cause her discomfort. He had only been interested in laying claim to her.

She put her hand over his. “It’s okay.” She gave him a coy smile, nudging his cheek with her nose affectionately. “I like it.”

“Tch,” he looked away, trying to get his heart to stop beating so erratically.

She laughed, charmed by his reticence. “Every time I see it, I think of you.” She pressed her lips to his ear, her warm breath ghosting over his skin. “You should give me another.”

His throat bobbed, his hands clenching on her thighs. With liquid ease, she moved her hand to slip under his armor plating. Her clever little fingers easily found his cock through his skintight pants and started stroking him, achingly slow. 

“I’ve missed you,” she whispered. “You haven’t even had me yet, now that I’m all yours,” 

“Bulma,” he hissed, his body tensing.

“Yes, my prince?” she crooned.

 _Sweet merciful hell_.

“Stop,” he barely choked out, stilling her tiny wrist in his hand.

She faltered, her brows pulling up. “What’s wrong?”

He looked down, unable to meet her eyes. “…I didn’t come here for this.”

“You didn’t?” she asked, her tone surprised.

He huffed. “No. Your letter…” He couldn’t admit that he had thought she was going to do something stupid.

She was silent for a long while. It unnerved him. He glanced at her with trepidation, but he wasn’t prepared for the soft, adoring look she was giving him.

“Vegeta… Were you _worried_ about me?”

His cheeks flushed, his tail tightening around her anxiously. He couldn’t find the right words in reply, so he said nothing, again looking away. 

“Aw, my shy, strong warrior,” she teased sweetly. “Were you concerned you wouldn’t have your little doll to cum inside of anymore?”

“You’re not a doll, Bulma,” he replied tersely.

“Wh… What did you say?”

He met her eyes, serious. She looked almost frightened now, all playfulness vanished, along with the color in her face.

“You are not a sex doll,” he repeated, staring firmly into her eyes. “You aren’t obligated to fuck anyone, least of all me.”

He watched her struggle to process his words. Blue eyes searched his frantically, and her breathing hitched. For a moment, she was speechless.

But only for a moment. 

“You’re… really not going to fuck me?” she asked quietly.

“Did you not hear what I said?”

“I just… I just want to make sure I understand. You’re saying that, _no matter what_ , you won’t force yourself onto me?”

“Correct.”

“Not even if I take off my clothes?”

“No.”

“Not even if I lay down on the bed and touch myself?”

“N— what?”

“Not even if I moan your name, with my fingers inside my pussy?”

“Bulma, I’ll just leave,” he growled at her, annoyed and flustered.

She smirked. “What if I touch _you_?”

That made him pause. He wasn’t sure what she meant. She was always touching him, but he got the feeling she meant something else. Her breathing had quickened and her pupils dilated. Her reaction ignited his own, his fingers tightening and his cock growing hard in longing.

“It’s not necessary,” he told her hesitantly.

“But I can touch you if I want?” she asked, her tone silky.

_Fuck…_

He didn’t reply, but his silence was telling.

She smiled and slipped her arms around his neck, pressing close to him. “I want to touch you. Not because you bought me, but because I want to. Will you let me? Do you trust me?”

He swallowed thickly. Trust was easy to break. Trust got you killed. He didn’t trust anyone, end of story.

Or so he thought, until she fell into his life and forced him to write a new chapter in his book, redefining his definition of trust. He found himself aching to accept her offer, amazed that she would voluntarily want to touch him.

“…Yes,” he answered gruffly, his tail squeezing her.

“I trust you too,” she admitted with a giddy laugh. He wanted to shake her for that, to instill in her some fear and skepticism. She was a fool to put her trust in anyone, least of all him. He wasn’t deserving of something so precious. But before he could say as much, she put her tiny hands on his face and kissed him, and he greedily kissed her back.

When they started grinding against each other, she broke the kiss with a breathless gasp. “Your armor,” she groaned. “Take it off.”

He did so in seconds, more than eager to oblige. Armorless, he stepped back to resume their embrace, but she put two delicate fingers to his chest, stopping him. “Wait. Sit there,” she gestured to a large, worn armchair.

He glanced to the chair but didn’t immediately move, his mind still scattered by her kisses and the desire to pin her down and rut against her. 

The smile she gave him was sly, as if she could read his thoughts. “It’ll be good, I promise.”

He gave in and sat in the armchair, unsure of why he felt apprehensive doing so. His tail flicked nervously, draped over the side. 

 Bulma followed him, hopping down from the drawers with a coy smile. When she stood before him, she sank to her knees and settled elegantly between his legs. His eyebrows rose and his muscles tensed. She put her hands on his powerful thighs and gave him a hungry look, eyes settling on the bulge in his pants. With an appreciate sound she leaned in, kissing his thigh. Slowly, her mouth kissed towards his groin.

Vegeta’s whole body stiffened.

She noticed.

“Is this okay?” she asked, looking up at him from between his legs. 

He turned his head away in embarrassment. He wasn’t used to her mouth being on him in this way. He was used to being in charge and had always been the one doing the fucking. Even when Bulma had ridden him, it was because he allowed it, knowing he could easily flip her beneath him and fuck her to his heart’s content. But if she hinted at using her mouth, Vegeta had quickly steered her away. He much preferred plowing into the hot, wet confines of her cunt, or cumming in her clever hands, or even rocking inside her tight little ass while he teased her dripping pussy; she had cum a record number of times _that_ night. But Vegeta didn’t trust putting his dick near another’s teeth, not when it meant relinquishing control to another, leaving him vulnerable. 

But she had asked him to trust her. And the idea of Bulma’s soft, pretty mouth wrapped snuggly around him was making him forgot his reservations, and his cock throbbed at the idea.

“Just do what you’re going to do,” he mumbled uncomfortably.

She gave him a gentle smile and kissed his bulge. The gesture melted away some of his reservations.

Bulma continued kissing him, letting him grow accustomed to receiving pleasure rather than being in control of it. She touched his cock through his pants, gliding a delicate finger over his swollen length and making it jump with need.

“I didn’t forget what you told me,” she purred. “That only you can cum in me. Let me help you keep that promise.”

His jaw clenched and he gripped the armrests savagely. He watched her through slitted eyes as she leaned forward, pulling out his heavy cock. She looked right at him as she dragged her wet, hot tongue along its underside.

Vegeta forgot to breathe. The wood of the armchair crunched under his tightening grip. His tail twisted anxiously.

“Mm, I’ve been dying to taste you,” she confided, encircling the base of his cock with her forefinger and thumb. “Do you like it, Vegeta?”

How could he not? It was fucking _heavenly_. 

She smiled wickedly and lowered her eyes before continuing to lap at his cock. Her tongue was soft, exquisite, and incredibly wet. Each lick wiped away another layer of his apprehension until he found himself completely relaxed, sinking deep into the chair. The armrests groaned alarmingly under his fists. He was trying to maintain his composure, but her ministrations were torturous. His cock grew thick and swollen, glistening with her saliva and his precum, begging for something more. He missed the wet sucking heat of her cunt and the sweet relief he knew it would bring. But he was bound by his promise not to take control, and oddly enough, found himself less inclined to take charge, enjoying the sweet agony of being at her mercy.

“Oh Vegeta, you’re being so good,” she purred, giving him a wicked look as her fingers lazily stroked him.

He glared at her through his narrowed eyes, but didn’t have the capacity to chastise her, not if it meant she might stop. His blood felt like liquid fire in his veins, all of it rushing and swelling into his head that she teased mercilessly. She swirled the tip of her tongue against the ridge of his head, making him groan. Precum burst from the slit. She lapped it up with a needy moan, coating her tongue and his cock with it.

“Spread your legs wider,” she gasped.

He did. She massaged his powerful thighs and scooted closer, wetting her lips. Before he could prepare himself, Bulma swallowed his head. The wood of the armrest shattered under his grip.

She smiled sinfully around him, watching his reactions with sparkling blue eyes. He was sure she could see right through him, but for once he didn’t care, completely undone by her and desperate for more.

He sank helplessly into the chair, losing track of time as she worked him, her mouth bobbing wetly. Fuck did it feel incredible. Little by little she took more of him inside until he felt himself hit the back of her throat. She pulled off him with a wet pop, gasping for air. Her fingers kept stroking him.

“You’re trembling,” she said. His thighs were quivering, his hands too. He frowned at her, not happy that she was pointing it out. 

“You haven’t cum since the last time you were with me, have you?” she asked.

How did she fucking _know that_?!

“No wonder you’re so tense,” she smirked. “It’s okay. Just sit back and let me take care of you.”

He huffed, but his tail betrayed his indifference, reaching out to wrap about her upper arm. He needed to hold on to her in some way. 

Her eyes danced playfully. “How long do you think you can hold out for?” she asked him, rubbing her thumb against the sensitive spot under his head. “Try not to cum yet, okay?”

Like he could hold on much longer. But Vegeta wasn’t one to easily pass up a challenge.

Bulma licked her lips obscenely as she adjusted her grip on his cock. She took him back into her mouth. But this time when he hit her throat, she didn’t stop.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” he choked out, gasping in shock as he slid all the way down her perfect, pretty throat. She hummed in satisfaction and started bobbing along his length. Her mouth was obscenely wet and made the most indecent noises. It was indescribable. 

He panted and arched back, pushing his fingers into his hair to keep from grabbing her. He groaned, not caring about maintaining control anymore. Truth be told, he had lost control a very long time ago, not just with her but in his life in general. At least with her he felt like it would be okay. Where the world had fucked him over, she fucked him sweetly. Somehow, she had found a space inside his chest to curl up in and breathe life back into his soul.

His balls tightened, his cock throbbing. She had told him not to cum, but he didn’t know how long he could hold off. His whole body trembled with restraint and his hips moved restlessly, desperate to push up into her clever mouth.

“Bulma…” he groaned miserably.

She looked up at him, her lips wrapped around the base of his cock, and their eyes met. She reached out and tugged on his arm. When he gave it to her, she put his hand on her head, a wordless offer to guide her. He took it gratefully, grabbing her with both hands, pushing his fingers into her soft hair and thrusted helplessly down her tight throat.

He came hard, a choked cry escaping him, breaking apart like the fragments of an exploding star. He clung to her head wretchedly.

She coddled his cock in the warm confines of her mouth until he started to soften. Finally, he slipped from her lips, wet and overused. She tucked him back into his suit, licking her lips with kittenish delight, and smiled at him.

“Feeling better now?”

Vegeta felt like he had died and stumbled mistakenly into an afterlife reserved for blue-haired angels.

He answered in a grunt, not trusting himself to form words. His tail tightened on her arm possessively, his hands fingering her feather-soft hair.

She climbed into his lap, curling her knees up as she did when they spooned in bed. His tail instantly accommodated, wrapping around her middle. Tucking her head under his chin, she listened to the frantic beat of his heart as he came down from his high. The smell of her arousal teased at his senses. Fuck, she got wet from servicing him? The goddamn minx. Should he return the favor? It was a tempting idea, to bring her to the brink of insanity with his mouth the same way she had just done for him.

“You seemed to like that,” she taunted, rubbing her hand soothingly over his chest.

“Hn.”

“I’m glad you could trust me to do this for you,” she murmured, her tone musing. Delicate fingers circled his chest contemplatively, drawing patterns that made his nipples tighten. “When you didn’t visit, I didn’t know what to think.”

Not knowing what to say to that, his mind still in pieces after cumming, he decided to answer in half-truths. “I was busy.”

“With work?”

 _Avoiding you._ “I’m here now, aren’t I?” he grumbled.

“True… Was it my panties or my letter that got you here?” she jested, but her voice sounded more tense than playful.

He didn’t answer, and she lapsed into silence. Vegeta was happy to let her, enabling his blood pressure to return to normal.

“Vegeta?”

“What?”

“…I’m going to run away,” she confessed.

His heart stopped. It should have been expected; her letter had hinted at some hidden motives, but hearing her admit them aloud was still distressing. He didn’t know what to feel. There was relief that she wasn’t going to kill herself, his earlier fear assuaged, and he was a little impressed by her initiative too. But mostly he was alarmed at never being able to see her again. Whatever this was that they shared, this surreal connection where a whore could be a scientist, and a monster could be a prince, Vegeta knew it would end the moment they left the four walls of their room. She would be horrified to see what he did, and he was unable to do as he pleased — Frieza would never allow it for long.

“You’ll be killed,” he told her, the words harsh but true. His tail tightened on her involuntarily. “Or worse: sold off and used more violently than you have been here. Is your freedom worth that?”

She pressed against him, as if his powerful body would shield her from the cruel realities of the universe. “Wouldn’t you fight for your freedom?”

Vegeta fell silent at that. She was right. Again. 

“I have to try, Vegeta,” she continued. “I’m dying here too, just slower.”

“…Where would you go?” he grudgingly asked, ignoring the panicky way his heart was thudding in his chest at the idea of her running off.

“Home. To Earth.” She hesitated, the pause laden with meaning. Sitting up so that she could look him in the eye, Bulma asked “Can you help me?”

Vegeta felt something slice down his middle, like a hot blade gliding through steel. He was being torn apart.

On the one hand rested his entire life and identity. He was Vegeta, Saiyan Prince, Frieza’s (unwilling) ally, destructor of worlds and terror of the universe. He was loyal to himself foremost, and to Frieza only while it served to be so. He was a monster: cold, aloof, and cruel. He had no weaknesses, and he certainly didn’t help anyone. But on the other hand rested something new. It was fragile and untested, a delicate heart of blown glass as thin as spun sugar and the same blue as her eyes. Like a baby bird it cried out, begging for the chance to survive, to live, to be nurtured. It was a part of him he didn’t even know existed until she had helped tease it out of him.

He knew he couldn’t balance both halves indefinitely. To preserve one, he would need to sacrifice the other.

“What do you have in mind?” he finally asked.

Bulma was only too happy to tell him, excitedly babbling about different plots and ideas she had been churning over in her pretty head the past few days, or maybe even longer. But for every possibility she had thought of, he could think of several opposing reasons why it wouldn’t work. Despite his pessimism, an idea entered his mind, one that held much less risk than her ill-conceived escape plans. But just as quickly as the thought came, he dismissed it. Vegeta was unwilling to give her up so easily, or pay so damn much to make it happen. He re-focused his attention on her.

“What about your chip?” he asked.

“Chip?” she stuttered, her excitement coming to a halt.

Fucking great, did she not even know about that?

“Tch. You’re chipped, _genius_. Most slaves are. Right here,” he informed her, briefly touching the back of her neck. In a moment of insight, he added, “Probably when they vaccinated you.”

“Those _jerks_ ,” she gasped, rubbing the same spot he had indicated, as if to feel for a chip under her skin.

“If you try to leave, you’ll trip an alarm,” he said, annoyed to think she was going to attempt an escape without even knowing that much. She wouldn’t even have made it out the damn brothel. It irritated him and made him furious to think she would have thrown her life away so carelessly. Clearly, she knew very little about how the universe worked. What kind of sheltered planet did she come from that she didn’t even know about chipping?

“How do we get it out?” she asked, concerned.

“That’s the least of your worries,” he snapped, her ignorance now more concerning. “How will you protect yourself from being re-captured? Do you know how rare your beauty is? You’ll be a goddamn magnet for slavers. And how do you intend on traveling? Do you have credits stashed away for an airship? Do you plan on stealing one? What if someone comes after you for escaping?” he asked her, getting more and more worked up by her lack of foresight. 

She pushed up to give him a petulant look. “I didn’t say I had it all figured out yet, did I? I have six months for that. And… I was hoping you could—”

“What?” he snapped, cutting her off. “Help you run off so we can live happily ever after?” he asked cruelly, leaning towards her, his lips pulling back in an aggressive sneer. “Do you _really_ want my help? Do you even know what that means? I could blow up this brothel, and the city along with it. Is that what you want, Bulma? Shall I murder everyone here for you, bring the peace-keeping forces down on us? I’ll kill them too, pick them off one by one, laughing while they groan and bleed out at my feet. _That’s_ the kind of man I am, Bulma. That is who you’re asking for help. And that is what it takes to survive here. Is that what you want?” he growled. He left out the part where he would be beaten within an inch of his life or worse for carrying out any of his threats. This planet was protected under Frieza’s law. He couldn’t do shit for her, not without getting them both into serious danger, and that angered him the most.

In effect, he was impotent. Useless. Powerless.

Bulma swallowed, her jaw setting stubbornly. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Isn’t it?”

She tried to climb off of him, but his tail held her. 

“I’ll do it without you if you’re going to be an asshole,” she said hotly, slapping at his chest to break free.

He unwound his tail, letting her go. 

She staggered off his lap, glaring at him hotly. “I just thought you might have had some information, or contacts, or money you could have given me since you said you would keep me safe.”

Vegeta looked away. Despite his boastful assurances in the shower the other day, he couldn’t protect her and keep her safe. He couldn’t even help himself. He was a fly caught in the web of Frieza’s schemes. His life was a never-ending cycle, the immediate satisfaction of destruction keeping him distracted. Like a mouse on a wheel, Vegeta ran in circles for Frieza’s amusement, doomed to always be a pet, caught in a universe-sized cage.

There was little he could do for her without bringing Frieza down on them. He would rather kill her himself than let her fall into that bastard’s hands.

“You’re safe _here_ ,” he growled.

“I’m a prisoner here!” she shouted back at him. “The only difference now is that I’m just your prisoner instead of whoever else could afford me.”

He got up, furious, and marched forwards to grab his armor. He noticed her flinch back, and that hurt more than her words did. He thinned his mouth and pulled on his armor before heading for the door. “Life’s unfair, Bulma. Get used to it. You can hate me all you like, but at least you’re safe here.”

He marched out the door, slamming it shut behind him. He heard her hit the door a second later, her tiny fists banging on the frame.

“DON’T LEAVE ME HERE, VEGETA! Come back here, you coward! I’ll run away, with or without your help! Vegeta…!” 

She collapsed to the floor and divulged into tears, crying wretchedly. He stood with his back to the door, each tiny sob she made another slice through his soul.

“Vegeta, please… Please don’t leave me. I’m so lonely. I want to leave…” she whispered brokenly to herself.

He fled before he could hear any more.

She was right. As always.

He was a coward.

* * *

~xox~

 

Vegeta sat on the stairway between their private room and the main corridor lined with sex dolls, his head in his hands. He was stuck, unable to move forwards or backwards.

He was in over his head.

Reserving her had been a knee-jerk reaction to an immediate problem: to keep her away from other clients. He had done it to help her, in part, but he had also done it to keep her for himself. Deep down he knew that if she got her freedom back, he would never see her again. But he couldn’t keep her here forever, and she refused to be kept.

He was at a loss what to do. Destruction was what he was adept at, not fixing. He shouldn’t even be here. He shouldn’t even care. To hell with her. He owed her nothing. She was a nice fuck but that didn’t mean he had to solve all her problems. She was sly and beautiful, and so Saiyan-like it was uncanny. She could make him cum over and over in mind shattering bliss while his heart burst and his body melted with her kisses. She listened when he spoke, and looked into his eyes when she rode him, and she haunted his dreams when she wasn’t there, and helped him sleep peacefully when she was… And, he trusted her. But it didn’t mean anything, that she was all those things and more. All he had to do was walk away and pretend like she wouldn’t rot in her room for six months, just to be put back in her glass cage for reptiles and Cephalopian and whatever-the-fuck-else found her attractive to fuck her.

He didn’t care. He was a bad man after all. That’s all he had ever amounted to. That’s all he was destined for…

_If you want to be my hero, I’ll let you. I think you’re nicer than you let on._

The blue glass-heart she had put in his chest beat once.

Vegeta picked himself up and headed downstairs.

“Yes?” The 6-eyed receptionist greeted him dourly. 

“How much for the Blue Doll?”

“You already have her for six months, sir.”

“How much for her _freedom_?” Vegeta growled.

All six eyes swiveled to a monitor to look up her information. 

He bought her out, beggaring himself in the process. What few credits he had left after the transaction he also withdrew, making the receptionist promise to deliver them to her in the morning, on pain of gruesome death. 

Vegeta left the brothel, feeling hollow. His sudden poverty paled in comparison to the aching loneliness that engulfed him.

Nappa waited for him outside. No doubt he and Raditz had put two and two together and remembered what the ‘Aurora Bolide’ was.

“The fuck do you want?” Vegeta snarled.

Nappa said nothing, handing over his scouter.

Vegeta slipped it on. He didn’t need to read the memo to know who it was from. There was only one reason why Nappa would risk a beating by chasing him down in his private time.

 The overwhelming hopelessness curled around his chest, squeezing, and shattered his heart. 

“When do we leave?” Nappa asked.

“Now,” Vegeta replied coldly, clearing the message from Frieza to return to work.

He couldn’t break his bondage to Frieza, but at least he had been able to free her from her own.

 

* * *

~xoXox~

 

 **AN:** beta-read by the incredibly talented **Artephile** / **Marcella-Duchamp.**

 **Fanart** : stupidoomdoodles (on twitter) and redviolett (on tumblr/twitter/deviantart) have both done some amazing fanart for this story. Be sure to check it out and tell them how talented they are! My beta has also hinted at some fanart coming our way too, so keep your eyes peeled ;)

This series was written for the Spring 2017 Vegebul Smutfest hosted by **The Prince and the Heiress** Google community.


	8. Epilogue - Fantasy

**-Epilogue: Fantasy-**

 

Space.

It was vast, incomprehensibly so. Empty. Vegeta never understood how people looked at space and saw the stars, when all he saw was the immeasurable blackness between them. Which of those black spaces was he responsible for creating? Which black space was where Vegeta-sei used to be?

Space was desolate: an infinite bleak ocean, intermittently dotted with giant orbiting marbles. Sometimes they harbored organisms who scurried around in vain attempts to exist, to _matter_. They never did, not when he came along and ended their suffering with an indiscriminate ki blast.

How he wished someone would do him the same courtesy.

Vegeta sat in his pod, hunched miserably, trying to fight off a migraine and a creeping cold that had been with him since leaving the Aurora Bolide. He struggled to not think of her, but inevitably he always did. Bulma would have been set free long ago, given his credits, enough for her to live by comfortably for a few months while buying her way home. _If_ she didn’t fall into trouble along the way. The idea of her getting caught or killed made Vegeta’s stomach twist violently, but he steeled himself against those thoughts. 

She wasn’t his problem anymore.

But she had been, for a while. And wasn’t _that_ ironic, because where his ownership of her had been brief, her clutch on him was forever.

In the endless restless days of his pod flight, Vegeta was haunted by her. Blue gas giants had him thinking of her hair and eyes. The hum of the pod’s automation system turned into the sounds of her soft moans and sighs. A spiral galaxy, glistening milky white in the distance, made him think of his cum splayed across her silken breasts and belly.

 Images turned into memories, memories into daydreams. He re-played them over and over, merciless, torturing himself with each cruel thing he had done to her, and every kind thing that he hadn’t. His head pounded.

“Vegeta—”

He bolted upright, looking around for the source of the voice. He wrenched off his scouter to check it, but there were no incoming calls or signals displayed.

He must have imagined it. Perhaps he had drifted off? He was sleep deprived. How long had it been since he last slept properly? Two weeks? Three? Warily, Vegeta sank back into his chair, slipping his scouter once more over his eye.

“Vegeta.”

He stiffened. Slowly, warily, he tapped the scouter, but it still read as inactive. Either the damn thing was broken, or… he was losing his goddamn mind.

“…Who is this?” he asked.

“Wow, you’ve forgotten my voice already?”

It felt like getting punched in the gut. He would never forget her voice. Too many times he had listened to it as Bulma crooned and whimpered in his ear, cumming gorgeously on his cock while begging him for more.

But there was no way she could be talking to him now, which meant he was hallucinating the whole damn thing.

How did one have a conversation with a figment of their imagination?

Vegeta swallowed thickly. “How did you… How are you talking to me?”

“I’m a scientist, remember?”

The corner of his mouth curled up despite himself. Figment or not, fuck it was good to hear her. He settled more comfortably into his chair, watching a solar system drift by his window.

“I remember,” he said softly. “…Where are you?”

“I’m here to talk about you, actually.”

“Hn.”

“How are you, Vegeta? Getting enough sleep?”

The tip of his tail swished with agitation. “Since you’re just my subconscious speaking, you would know the answer to that.”

“So… not well then.”

“No.”

“Why not?” she inquired.

“How the fuck would I know?”

“Bad dreams?”

He hesitated to reply.

“Good dreams?” she asked, a smirk in her voice. 

“Tch.” A blush crept over his face, and he huddled more sullenly into his chair.

“Not dreams then,” she mused. “How about a guilty conscious?”

He sneered, his tail bristling. “What do I have to feel guilty about?”

“So you _do_ feel guilty?”

“No!”

“You don’t feel guilty about leaving me behind?”

“What? No!”

“Really?”

“ _No_! What did you expect me to do, Bulma? I had no choice!”

“No, Vegeta. _I_ had no choice. You always had a choice. And you chose to leave.”

“WOMAN, I am _not_ discussing this with you.”

“Right. Heaven forbid you talk about anything.”

“GET OUT OF MY HEAD.”

“If you say so.”

The pod lapsed into silence. Vegeta calmed down, his fingers clenching anxiously on his arms, his tail curling tightly around his middle.

The silence stretched out, as infinite as the universe. 

“…Bulma?” he asked tentatively.

There was no reply.

Something small and vulnerable broke inside him. Disgusted, he threw his scouter off where it bounced sharply across the pod interior. Putting a hand over his face, Vegeta blocked out the endless space-scape before him and with it, he hoped, his inner-demons.

* * *

~xox~

 

The scalding shower washed away the last few weeks of sweat, dirt and blood, yet the cold in his soul remained. Minutes dragged by. Vegeta stayed under the hot spray longer than was necessary, trying to get his sleep-deprived thoughts in order. He was barely keeping it together. Days melded into weeks, and he was growing increasingly unsociable even by his standards. He flung himself into battles with a carelessness that bordered on suicidal. Even Nappa and Raditz had clued in that he was unravelling at the seams, giving him suspicious looks, exchanging glances when they thought he wasn’t paying attention. He was; he had just ceased caring. Perhaps it was time to suck up his pride and find the nearest space station to acquire some sleeping pills before things got even worse.

Vegeta leaned his head against the wet shower tiles, closing his eyes for only a moment.

Soft lips wrapped around his cock. The hot, wet confines of her mouth dragged out a needy groan from him. He was as eager as a puppy for her affection. Crystal blue eyes watched him with amusement as he swelled to full girth in her mouth. He slipped down the back of her throat and shuddered in relief.

Vegeta jerked awake, blinking open gritty eyes. Swearing under his breath, he turned the shower to cold, freezing away his exhaustion and arousal with brutal indifference. When his limbs were shivering, he turned the water off and grabbed the nearest towel. It was a threadbare thing, but he couldn’t expect much when he was making Nappa pay for the hotel.

Vegeta rubbed himself dry, vainly attempting to scrub away his madness, before wrapping the damp towel around his waist and heading into his room.

There was a knock at the door. 

“What?” he snapped irritably.

No reply.

The rapping sound came again.

“ _What_?!” Marching over, Vegeta wrenched open the door to chew out whichever dumb fuck had dared disturb him.

And took a stunned step back.

Bulma.

She was standing in his doorway, as beautiful as a doll in a glass display. No, _more_ so. Her make-up wasn’t as heavy as usual, and the clothes she wore were more simple: a navy summer dress, with a delicate burgundy scarf about her throat. Blue and red. His ancestral colors. She was… gorgeous. Glowing with a joy that Vegeta had only seen glimpses of before. Freedom became her. Bulma gave him a smile that tore right through him and was more devastating than any physical attack he had endured yet.

He was rooted to the spot, unable to move, his heart about to give out.

“Did you miss me?”

Disbelief, elation, skepticism, Vegeta was overwhelmed and light-headed from the influx of emotions her presence wrought inside him. He glanced left and right, searching the hallway for any sign of how she had got there — if anyone had seen her, if this was even really happening — before he looked back at her at a complete loss, his head swimming with questions. 

“How…?” he asked.

Her grin became wicked, her eyes taking in his half-naked state with a look of approval. “You Saiyans leave a pretty noticeable path of destruction in your wake. It wasn’t hard to track you.”

“Me?”

“Of course you. Why else would I be here if not for you?”

He had no idea. Had she really come here for him? After all her whining about wanting to go home, she had instead sought him out. Why? He had set her free. She could have gone anywhere, done anything, yet here she was, standing on his doorstep looking better than his wildest fantasies. Why, why would she risk getting captured again for him? But he couldn’t bring himself to ask. So he asked the next best thing.

“How did you get here?”

Her smile softened. “I’m a genius scientist, remember?”

He winced. Her words stung, too similar to his hallucination in the pod.

_No…_

Fuck.

Was this real?

Was she actually here, or was he imagining this like the conversation in space? Had he finally snapped?

Vegeta ran his eyes over her, head to toe, trying to validate her presence. Her pretty dress hung short about her thighs; a lump formed in his throat when he spotted the mark he had put upon her. Did she realize how brazen it was to be walking around, brandishing his mark for others to see? She was announcing to everyone that she was claimed.

He swallowed against a mouth gone dry. 

“Vegeta, are you okay?” 

Of course he wasn’t okay. He thought he had lost her forever, but here she impossibly stood, saying his name as if it didn’t pain him to hear it, as if it didn’t bring back memories of more pleasant times when she had moaned his name in passion. But that had been before he had acted in her benefit, and to his detriment. He couldn’t sleep without her; couldn’t function or find meaning in anything he did. When he gave her back her life, he had done so knowing he doomed his own.

Bulma’s eyes ran over his face, her delicate brow creasing in worry. Her scrutiny made him uncomfortable. “You don’t look well,” she said, and reached out to touch his face.

Adrenalin sparked, his heart rate skyrocketing. _She’s not real_. His body screamed for him to pull away, convinced he wouldn’t feel her fingers, that they would wash through him in ghostly apparition. But with a stubbornness that had moulded him into the warrior he was, Vegeta didn’t flinch away. 

She cupped his face. Her hands were soft and shockingly cool. Her thumbs brushed over his cheeks, gentle. Holy shit, she was _actually_ _here_ , with him, _touching him_ … Vegeta clenched his jaw, closing his eyes, struggling not to come undone.

“Kami, you’re burning up. Vegeta, what happened?”

It was too much. Her voice, her touch, her concern, it shattered him. Slowly, painfully, Vegeta lifted his hand to ghost his fingers over hers. When he touched her, electricity burned his fingertips.

He opened his eyes and was confronted with her crystal blue concern. How many nights had these eyes haunted him? But now, incredibly, she was no longer just a figment of his imagination.

“You’re really here,” he said, his voice nearly breaking.

Her eyes widened. “Of course. Why woudn’t— Oh!”

Vegeta grabbed her, crushing her as close to him as he could. She was so petite and soft, fitting against him as if shaped just for this purpose. He pressed his nose into her hair. At the brothel she had smelled strongly of lotions, soaps, and perfumes, but now her fragrance was more delicate. Pure. More _her_. His tail unbound from his waist and wrapped tightly around her middle, squeezing until she quivered against him.

“I guess you _did_ miss me,” she said, hugging him back. His throat closed up, unable to reply. Her lips brushed sweetly against his ear. “I missed you too, my prince.”

Any lingering reticence left inside Vegeta’s heart was blown away by her words.

He lifted her into his arms. She weighed nothing and was as light as a dream. She was only too happy to be carried, wrapping her legs around his hips, fitting against him as a lock to a key. Her breasts pillowed warmly against his bare chest when she leaned in to kiss him. He carried her inside his room, slamming the door shut behind him, fiercely kissing her back.

Vegeta took her to bed and lay her down, reverent, cradling her head with his hand until it touched the pillow. His mouth never left hers. Her thighs fell apart, welcoming him against her. He nestled against her hips, slowly grinding the full length of his body into her with each kiss.

With a gasp, he broke from her mouth, intent on stripping her of her clothing, but was caught off guard by the sight that greeted him.

Bulma was resplendent, an otherworldly angel splayed out beneath him. Her hair and dress fanned about her, blues stark against the ivory sheets. Face flushed, eyes glittering in the hushed light, Bulma was a work of art, as much as Vegeta had the capacity to appreciate such things. Peaking out from the short hem of her dress, he caught a glimpse of her panties - the same blue and red pair she had sent him.

Vegeta pushed her dress up further to see. “Aren’t these mine?” he asked, running his fingers along her panties’ hem, watching as the skin of her belly prickled with goose-bumps.

Bulma lowered her eyes coquettishly, her hands sliding up to grip his powerful arms. “They are. And everything in them too.”

The animal inside him reared up and growled, rattling its cage to be free and claim what was his. But he fought it, wanting to savor the gift of her return. Leaning in, he pressed his lips to the soft warm swell of her belly. Her skin was so achingly soft and perfect, unmarred save for the bite on her thigh. He should have felt contrite that he had ruined her, like he ruined everything, but selfishly he didn’t. If anything, he longed to ruin her more.

His fingers hooked in her panties by her hips. Her breath hitched, and he couldn’t help smirk. Slowly, oh so slowly, he pulled the garment down, letting the fabric drag along her long legs, like honey oozing from its comb. When the panties reached her feet, Vegeta plucked free her shoes, leaving her legs bare. As he moved, so did his tail, the furry appendage slipping from her waist to wrap around her creamy thigh.

Bulma let out a shaky sigh, her thighs quivering. She took her dress and shimmied out of it, tossing it to the floor. She was as perfect as he remembered: pale skin, soft curves, and pert, pink nipples. Only the red scarf remained, a self-chosen collar, dark as blood against her throat. 

The air grew heavy with the sweet, addicting smell of her arousal. It hung between them, beckoning him, tempting him with sweet demise. Vegeta knew if he gave in to it, he would be lost forever. He crept towards the source of her delicate scent; courting death had always been his specialty.

Settling between her legs, Vegeta placed rough hands on her inner thighs, encouraging her to spread her legs. She did, baring her delicate flower to him. A growl of longing rumbled in his chest, his tail tightening on her thigh. How was it that the sight of her cunt alone made everything else in his miserable life feel okay? Bulma whimpered, trembling under his intensity. Her submissive behavior called to the beast inside him, her prey to his predator. Domination was his. Vegeta glanced up the length of her torso and locked eyes with her.

“Vegeta—”

He didn’t let her finish, tasting her cunt with his tongue while his eyes still burned into hers.

Bulma gasped, collapsing weakly against her pillow like a pillar of wet clay. She struggled to keep her hips still, her hands pawing at the sheets. She tasted sweet and intoxicating, a richness of flavor that was quickly making him drunk. He wanted more of it, craved it. Demanded it as his right.

Spreading her petaled lips open with his fingers, Vegeta delved his tongue deep inside.

Bulma broke easily, like a paper doll torn in two. It didn’t take long for her to sob his name as she writhed in the bed. Her fingers pushed into his hair, tugging urgently as he crushed his mouth against her fluttering core. She was heavenly, soft and wet and warm. She was everything that had been painfully absent in his life: pleasure, passion, optimism, affection. She was all these things and more. How had he survived for so long without them, without her? He was dying, parched, but now that he had her squirming in his hands, he refused to let go, quenching his thirst on her. He mouthed every delectable inch of her femininity, his eyes hungrily drinking up her reactions.

“Kami, Vegeta!” she wailed, her head arching back, crying out. Her hands held his head down with surprising strength, grinding her tiny, wet pussy to his mouth. She was a fiend, wild and breathtaking in her desperation. He helped slip her legs over his broad shoulders, relishing the touch of her heels on his skin. His tail sought to anchor her about her waist. Bending her double, bowing over her tiny frame, Vegeta sucked wet and fervently on her clit.

“VE-GE-TA—!” 

Her voice echoed, bouncing off the walls and inside his head as she came. Her thighs clamped about his ears. She throbbed and burst all over his tongue like an overripe fruit. 

When at last she fell bonelessly against the bed, as weak as a newborn foal, Vegeta pulled back with a wet, sticky gasp for air. He licked his mouth clean, like a large cat lapping up the remains of a kill. With equal predatory hunger, he stalked up the length of her body, intent on claiming the rest of his prize. She lay defenseless, gasping and trembling from her climax. He removed the towel from his waist, his erection bobbing free. Bracing his arms by her face, he pushed himself deep inside her wet, velvety folds.

Bulma let out a tiny, helpless sound. Blue eyelashes fluttered open and she looked up at him, her face flushed with orgasm. 

“Vegeta,” she mewled, staring at him with such fondness that it made him uncomfortable. Awed. He found the strength not to look away as he gently thrust inside her. She moaned and spread her legs wider, allowing him to sink in all the way.

The bed creaked with his rhythm. Feeling indulgent, he kissed her, tasting her mouth. She returned his affection, as lazy as a kitten with a belly full of milk, content to let him do as he wished with her. There was a lot about Bulma he didn’t understand, but at least during sex she was an open book: every one of her pages read ‘more.’

He kept the pace slow and relished each roll of his hips, the way she stretched around him and quivered when their pelvises met, his cock buried to the hilt in her. Her hands glided over his shoulders. Her fingers caressed his skin and his scars, loving all of him equally.

“You’re being so gentle today,” she murmured against his mouth, implying they hadn’t been estranged for weeks. As if they had fucked just the other night. It felt good to hear her talk that way. “Are you sure you’re not sick?” she teased.

Not rising to take her bait, Vegeta kept his pace languid. “Saiyans rarely fall ill,” he replied. He relished the little jolt that vibrated through her when his belly hit her clit. 

“O-of course, how silly of me. You’re the perfect warrior,” she crooned.

He didn’t respond, instead kissing her, moving his mouth down her tiny cheek, under her chin, towards her neck. Her scarf made him pause. He tugged on the fabric, wanting access to her pretty throat, but Bulma tensed, stopping him.

He went still, looking at her in surprise. It was rare for her to deny his touch.

She flushed hotly, lowering her eyes in uncharacteristic shyness. “…It’s ugly.”

His brow furrowed. “What is?”

With eyes downcast, Bulma replied, “The scar. From the chip.”

Something fierce and protective clawed inside him. His tail curled tighter around her waist, as if through sheer determination he could take away her pain. Slave chips were, by necessity, designed to be hard to remove. He pulled out of her, his cock shining wetly, throbbing needfully, but he ignored his lust in favor of attending to her.

“Turn over,” he commanded.

Her eyes flashed with uncertainty, her fingers tightening on her scarf.

He tried again, softer this time. “Turn over, Bulma,” he repeated, hoping that she would see the sincerity in his eyes. “I’ll handle it.”

Her eyes searched his, pretty blue pools swimming with a thousand thoughts he couldn’t fathom. Finally, she relaxed her grip on her scarf and started to twist around onto her belly. He loosened his tail to allow her movement, but didn’t back away, greedy to keep her close and trapped under him.

Once she was settled, he brushed her hair to the side and unknotted her scarf. It fell away like water rippling over a ledge, revealing porcelain skin and a nasty, mangled scar on her nape. Vegeta’s mouth thinned. Whoever removed her chip had not been gentle. Vegeta made a mental note to ask for the extractor’s name later. It would have been a fine scar for a warrior to bear, but Bulma was no warrior, at least not in the traditional sense. The scar would only serve to remind her of her enslavement. She deserved better. She was no slave, she never had been, not even in the brothel.

“Don’t move,” he warned her.

Her hands shifted to grip the pillow. “I won’t… I trust you.”

He ignored the way his gut clenched at her admission. He took her in his hands and bowed over her neck. His tail cinched at her waist. Baring his canines, Vegeta bit her, sinking his teeth firmly into her lush flesh.

She whimpered, her hands fisting the pillow. Hot metallic blood filled his mouth, and he closed his eyes, swallowing it down languidly. His eyes fluttered open when something touched him. His gaze slipped to the side, seeing her hand on his, her trembling fingers entwining with his own. Ivory on tan. Human on Saiyan. Skin on skin. He looked away, squeezing her fingers in return.

With a final clench of his jaw, Vegeta released her neck. His massive bite mark masked the damage her slave chip had left. She would still be scarred there, but not as property: as a mate. 

Blood continued to swell at her wound, and with it, his regret. He had caused her more pain. “…Does it hurt?” he asked haltingly.

“A little,” she confided, her voice tight. 

Brave. He would give her that.

Vegeta moved off of her to lay on his side, pulling Bulma flush to his chest, his mouth on her neck. He squeezed her about the middle in an attempt to be comforting. Blood dribbled down her neck, so he licked it up. 

“Oh,” she stuttered, her fingers tightening on his forearms.  

He paused, unsure of her reaction.

Her fingers flexed, kneading his flesh. “…Again,” Bulma whispered, her voice breathy and exhilarated. “Keep doing that, please?”

A dark possessiveness unfurled in his chest, his lips quirking up. He closed his eyes and willingly laved her wound, feeling her shiver and moan delightfully in his arms. She arched against him, her bottom wriggling against his half-hard cock. His pulse quickened. His tail, snaked lazily about her middle, undulated happily against her skin.

“C-can I touch it?” she asked, her voice still breathless.

“Mm,” he agreed. He barely gave her request any consideration, too caught up in grooming her.

But he froze as soon as her fingers brushed over the coarse fur of his tail. Sparks of pleasure fired throughout his nervous system, dancing up his spine and down to his balls. His hold tightened on her reflexively. The groan that escaped his lips was unintentional.

“Does that feel good?” She teased. Her hand caressed his tail again, firm but gentle, pulling softly, and it pulled him apart into a thousand pieces. Vegeta melted against her, his entire body shuddering in gratification.

She was relentless, stroking his fur more sweetly than she had ever stroked his cock. He buried his face in her neck, stifling a whimper. His tail twisted restlessly in her hands. “Bulma,” he groaned, his voice embarrassingly needy. His cock had swollen between her cheeks, smearing precum against her skin.

She reached down, finding his cock, and guided it to her soft, slick entrance. As soon as his head nudged against her, he pushed in. Home. 

* * *

~xox~

 

“Vegeta. I need your help.”

They lay in an exhausted heap in the hotel bed, sweaty and satiated. Vegeta still spooned her. His cock lay limp between them, a sticky mess, but not nearly as bad as the mess he had left in her used little pussy. Bulma’s hand still petted his tail, the touch more soothing now than erotic.

“Okay,” he agreed.

“There’s this planet and—”

“I said okay.”

“But,” Bulma hesitated, her hands going still. “You don’t even know what I’m asking you to do.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Really? You might get in trouble.”

He huffed and pushed himself up, looming over her. “Look at my eyes, Bulma. I said okay.”

Bulma searched his gaze and, as she so liked to point out, was able to read the truth of his words there. He meant what he said. After losing her once, he didn’t relish repeating the same emotional trauma twice. What did he care about _why_ she needed him, so long as she did. To hell with the consequences. In fact, if it meant getting in trouble to help her, all the better. He was going to die someday, what better way than by living on his own terms and helping her out in the process? And if it involved defying Frieza, so be it.

Her surprise melted into an adoring smile. She put her hands on his cheeks, and he frowned to try and fight the wild rabbiting of his heart at such a tender gesture.

“You’re a good man, Vegeta.”

“Tch.”

“You are. You might not believe it, but I do. And I’m a genius, so I would know.”

“Enough, I’m tired,” he groused, pulling away to hide his face before his blush could worsen. He bundled her into the comfort of his arms, telling himself that the embrace was for her benefit more than his. Her words caused his chest to ache. He pressed his mouth to the back of her neck, over the swollen wound of her bite mark.

_Mine._

She made a soft hum of contentment, melting comfortably into his hold. “Sweet dreams, Vegeta.”

He couldn’t return the sentiment, unable to. Overwhelmed. He watched her as she started to succumb to sleep. He desperately wished to follow her. He was exhausted and fighting to keep his eye-lids open. But he was afraid that if he closed his eyes and slept, she wouldn’t be there when he woke — disappearing from his life like smoke dissipating in the wind.

“…Bulma?”

“Mm?”

 _Don’t leave…_ “How long must I suffer sharing my bed with you?”

“Long enough that you’ll wish you had left me locked up at the brothel.”

The relief that washed through him was eclipsing. Tightening his hold on her, he finally allowed his eyes to close, convincing himself that she couldn’t leave without him noticing. As he finally drifted into much needed slumber, visions of blue danced in his head, wrapping around him, dragging him deeper and deeper into sleep. There was still a lot he didn’t know: how she got here, how she knew it was him that had bought her freedom, or what she really wanted from him. But he didn’t care.

If this was all a fantasy, some feverish hallucination concocted to ease his lonely subconscious, he never wanted to wake.

 

 

_—Fin._

* * *

~xoXox~

 

 **AN:** beta-read by the incredibly talented **Artephile** / **Marcella-Duchamp.**

 

Thanks for everyone’s lovely comments and support! Man, this was… a huge challenge to complete, haha. Between overtime at work, barely sleeping to write this in time for smutfest, getting sick and then dealing with writers block because of that, I think this took a few years off my life, lol. Sorry to have made you wait as long as I did for this epilogue, it wasn’t intentional, believe me.

If you like my stories, feel free to check me out on **FFnet, AO3, tumblr, twitter.**

 

 **Fanart** : stupidoomdoodles (on twitter) and redviolett (on tumblr/twitter/deviantart) have both done some amazing fanart for this story. Be sure to check it out and tell them how talented they are! My beta has also hinted at some fanart coming our way too, so keep your eyes peeled ;)

 

This series was written for the Spring 2017 Vegebul Smutfest hosted by **[The Prince and the Heiress](https://plus.google.com/communities/103990678253787718228)**  Google community.


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